Truck-Stop TP: What we need to pee

How many plies of toilet paper do you use on an average just-filtering-the-liquid-through-your-body visit to the little girl's or boy's room? Do you use an equal length of wiping material regardless of the TP brand, thickness, fluffiness and density?

These are the kind of questions that peppered my brother's and my Thanksgiving holiday conversations.
You see, we had both returned to our mom's house for the "Thanks, here's a bullet" celebration of our colonial forefathers to find that our mother had switched from double-plied, cushioned loo rolls to, what we refer to as, economical Truck-Stop TP (TSTP). Upon being questioned about her motives, she replied that she had conducted a month-long study of her own personal hygeine habits and had come to the conclusion that she pulled an equal length of cleansing towel regardless of the nature and makeup of the toilet paper. Therefore, using TSTP saved her money and lasted longer.

Now, let's think about this... There is quite a broad spectrum of closet-room activities; each activity requiring a different length of TP to successfully and sanitarily complete. There's the ordinary, and most common Let's-get-these-glasses-of-water/juice/soda-through-the-system pee. In my case, this calls for about three or four plies. For a man, it often requires nothing more than a healthy shake. Then, there is the I'm-still-shaking-from-seventeen-cups-of-coffee relief. Logically, this should call for no extra plies, but the inaccuracy of a jittery wiping hand must also be considered... We also have the Is-that-8-or-9-cans-o'-Coors? pee. This one is tricky, as the results are scientifically unpredictable: a quarter of the TP roll could disappear, the entire thing could be used to redecorate the living room, or the TP could be forgotten altogether- you just never know. Then, of course, there are the nitty-gritty Get-that-meal-through-digestion bathroom activities... This topic, though, being so complex and extensive in subtleties won't be explored in this post... but, let's just say that plies necessary can range from four to two hundred seventy-nine. After that, women have their Special-time-of-the-month powder room exercises, which require additional TP usage, and virile men with imaginations or excellent reading material may wish to use a few extra plies during clean-up as well...

In short... well... I've taken on a monster of an issue here and haven't even tackled the question... but,...

My gut, evidence-lacking stance on the controversial issue is that toilet paper should be soft enough to sooth while simultaneously being expendable enough to wipe the seat with.

Of dreams, monkeys and NASA

I really admire those people who are absolutely and entirely certain of what they want to do and be in life...

You know, like that kid who knew at age 12 that he wanted to be a pediatrician, specializing in rare elbow and ankle deformities...

or that girl in grammar school who said she wanted to be a horse, galloping across the countryside with her mane flapping in the breeze,

that driven twenty-something who said: "I will let nothing get in my way of becoming a data-entry slave for Mitsubishi",

or the guy I met in Guatemala who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his calling in life was to take ground water level samples and pass the results on to people who knew what to do with them...

I, on the other hand,
am not so decisive.
In fact, I tend to be passionately dedicated to a new career plan roughly every 23 minutes...:

2:34pm-- Quick, -c, grab your Nalgene bottle, hiking boots and nature-lovin' smile; you're gonna be an environmental educator, giving lectures about praying mantis ecosystems and symbiotic moss-bark relationships!

2:57pm-- Hurry, -c! Lose those khakis and sport your smock; it's time to make millions off of painting driftwood and beach pebble sculptures!

3:20pm-- Go on! That law degree awaits! Your career fighting first amendment violations and enforcing the ousting of stupid people from positions of power is just around the corner!

3:43pm-- You mean to say that I don't have the qualifications to be a free-lance astronaut?

4:06pm-- Since when is prodding discussions about the Nature of Existence with sarcastic jibes not a high-paying corporate position?

4:29pm-- What?! There's no salary available for traveling the world with a pet monkey, eating, sleeping and scribbling incoherent thoughts on napkins?!

Oh well... Some may say that I have a little narrowing-down to do... But, I can't wait to see the look on those people's faces when they read my autobiography written on globally-collected bar napkins about my life painting driftwood and sarcastically impaling philosophical discussions with my monkey on my environmentally-sustainable, ACLU-funded space station... So, there, ye doubters!

Krishna, toss me a dog!

It's always kind of special when someone throws something at or towards you... (unless, of course, it's a brick, a skillet, or a heavy water heater...).

No, but, REALLY, you have to admit that there IS some invasive sense of irrational soul-assessment and subconscious ego-transformation that accompanies the arch of an odd projectile aimed in your direction...

In my case today, it was a hotdog. Well... a hotdog wrapped in aluminum foil to be exact..., and a cascade of plastic-bead necklaces, tootsy rolls, chewing gum, and a fountain of flyers, fun and music...

Yes, I was attending the annual Doo Dah Parade in Pasadena: the lively and fun Rose-Bowl-Parade-parodying spectical of the year! The Spoof parade to beat all others!

Among my favorite marchers were:

(!)The Men of Leisure: Synchronized Nap Team (they periodically lied down in unison on the concrete and napped, and engaged in synchronized ass-scratching mid-march)

(!)The Howdy Krishna (wearing full Krishna garb, he cutely removed his cowboy hat and bowed "howdy" to everyone he passed)

(!)The Habachi Crew (they grilled and bazooka-tossed hot dogs and potatoes while dancing and wearing goofily magnificent costumes and charcoal bags on their heads)

(!)The Drop-the-ball-withGeorge Troupe (who featured a masked Dubya repeatedly dropping a beach ball, as individuals carrying signs bearing Bush failures tossed bouncy balls to the crowd)

(!)The friendly Chia People (who marched with the local chapter of the Green Party, claiming "Chia people make their own oxygen")

and

(!)The Body Piercers (who featured two guys swinging from their backs, held up by a few shoulder-blade skin piercings)

There were, of course, many other noteworthy political groups present (all situationally-biassed liberals, as well), in addition to the numerous red-hat chapters, cute dog acts, awesome marching bands and the "Invisible marching drill team"...

But...
overall, I give it a thumb and fingers up, and request that more odd objects be thrown at me at the earliest and most promptly convenient time!

Womb with a view

It was a sunny Tuesday morning when they came for me.

The birds were chirping sweetly. The fire truck sirens were drowning them out, and the Taco Bell drive-through was crammed to capacity.
They put me under a blanket with a biography and told me not to come out until the captain had turned off the seatbelt sign. They assured me everything would be fine, and that I would be safe once we arrived at the CBD (Center for Blog De-tox).

The CBD was a charming and warm institution that hummed of family and informed vitality. Every room had been ingeniously designed with protruding, motherly arms that reached out to welcome and happy-hug the visitor.

The whole establishment was like a giant Womb...

Like an enormous, muscle-plumped Womb with a locker-room steroid secret and a perpetual drip of EHC (Excessive Human Caring)...

... (except without all those sticky, disgusting Wombly fluids circulating through and around it...)

Anyway,... the CBD hooked me up. I was provided with a brilliant buddy to womb-trot with and offered such daily seminars as:

*Dominoes, Debauch and the Decline of Dignity
*Anarchy, Alfalfa-harvesting and Afterlife
*Bucket Beers, Banter and Bread-neck Bars
*News, Nicotine and Caffeine: What the Indianapolis Star doesn't tell you
*Revolution, Resilience and Retribution: The Return of Roller Derby
*Horseshoes and Whore Issues: What they didn't teach your skanky sister in kindergarden

And, in the end, I graduated from the Blog De-tox Program! Yeah!!

But... here I am again... De-toxed and back for another fix...
I just can't seem to kick this one...

*Update: To fulfill prerequisites for the Roller Derby Seminar, check out my friend's Chicago roller derby league here. These sexy renegade chicas will beat you into proper learning shape, if I don't get to it first...