Both Emily and HR Neglected This...

I don't proclaim to know everything that Emily Post had written, but I can say with 90 percent certainty that Emily Post failed to mention how to handle one particular scenario for which I desperately needed to know earlier today. And I know with a 100 percent certainty that the employee handbook didn't cover this either...

What do you do when you are greeted with a foul smelling air lingering in the restroom when all you needed to do was tingle; and while you make audible gagging sounds and hurry through your tingle, the toilet flushes in a stall and out comes someone you work with? And what do you do when you go to wash your hands and you realize it was your boss's turd aroma responsible for the stench, and he asks, "How's it going, John?" while he dries his hands with paper towels?

Do you make short little acknowledgments? Or do you try to carry a normal conversation pretending you're in his office? And do you keep eye contact at all, or focus on the lather on your hands? Or is it simply best to look at him through the mirror?

Help?

I Like Bobbies, But Not Today

Note: This blog was written on Sunday, June 1, 2008.

Sleep... It is one precious little thing that I can't seem to get enough of. Generally, it is the holy grail to which I seek on a daily basis. And when weekends come, I seek refuge from the tiredness of the workweek and steal some sought-after Z's by sleeping in. Like the shitty economy we're in, I try to gain ground on this whole sleep deficit on the weekends by sleeping in as much as possible.

But on this Sunday morning, I got woken up at freaking 0730 in the morning! No, it wasn't because I had forgotten to turn off the alarm clock. And no, it wasn't because I had a nightmare. And definitely no, I didn't have a hung over woman wake up next to me and hurriedly get dressed to bail out. What woke me up from my deep slumber were loud motorcycles revving up their engines. And cars honking. And lots of women cheering and hooting.

Repeatedly.

I looked out the window, and saw a bunch of women wearing pink walking by my building on the sidewalk. Thinking it would end soon, I tried to go back to sleep. But more motorcycles and more honking and more hollering continued. It was so loud that I simply couldn't go back to sleep.

I decided to get online, and guess what? Apparently the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer was happening. Great! I typically support events like this, especially when it is for a great cause, for because I love boobies too. I don't want anybody being forced into cutting such mammary wonders off to save their lives. So yeah, I support such causes.

But dammit! Not today! The damn booby walk woke me up. And it made me cranky. So for 2008, I'll claim to enjoy boobies for 364 days, with June 1st as the exception for the year...

Damn boobies...

The Trouble With Sandals

For as long as I can remember, I have always been a socks and shoes kind of a guy. The thought of wearing a pair of shoes without socks? I'd rather eat your grandmothers lacy panties than ever entertaining the thought of wearing a pair of trainers or dress shoes without socks. And it is for this very reason why I have for the longest time in my life avoided wearing sandals, or any kind of footwear that involves open feet.

Well, I do have to say that there was a brief moment in my early adult life that I actually wore a special kind of sandals, which was all strappy; one that had multiple straps that go over your foot from either side. Nothing got in the way between my toes. But even then, and my friends from that era of my life can fully attest, I still opted to wear socks along with that strappy sandal. Thank God I was nowhere near the fashion police. Was it fear of my feet getting exposed to the elements, like say, air? I don't know. Was it my desire to keep my feet nice and smooth to the touch, so that there aren't huge calluses built up on top of the sports calluses I had already built up in high school varsity basketball years? Not sure either.

But in either case, I have always avoided sandals. A hot August day in extreme humid Chicago? Socks and shoes. A stroll down the beach in Florida with my friends while vacationing in the summertime? Socks and shoes.

Until...

Well, some time near the end of last year, a friend and I were strolling through a running expo when we encountered a booth run by Crocs. Unlike myself, I'm sure most of you have heard of and bought Crocs years ago before they became a fad among teens and mothers unwilling to let go of their yuppie youth. Much like how I joined MySpace and Facebook only after they were no longer the in thing to do.

Anyway, I finally gave a pair of Crocs sandals a shot, and oh my gosh!!! They were scooshy and comfortable. They were nothing like the sandals I have ever owned as a kid, or the one and only kind I had in my young adulthood. Despite its exorbitant sticker price, I bought a pair! Only to sit in my plastic bag for months on end...

But when the day finally came for me to wear my new Crocs sandals, I began loving it. By then, it was already winter, so my chance of wearing them were as frequent as giving your little kitties a bath. But for every moment when I had to wear them, such as going down to the laundry room, or a brisk walk here and there, they worked marvelously.

Of course, sometimes I forget things given the span of time. Until today. I knew after running my half marathon, my feet would want to do some sort of rest and relaxation. What better way to pamper my own feet after they had helped me accomplish what I did than by going through the travel day wearing the Crocs I had bought the previous Fall?

Everything was hunky dorey. The drive from Fredericksburg to Baltimore was comfortable. The ride from the airport rental car station to the airport terminal was not so much comfortable. As the shuttle turned a corner, a luggage tipped over towards me. As I would usually do as if I was wearing regular shoes, I used my feet to prop the luggage back up. Only problem now was that when the heavy luggage got on top of my feet, it crushed a couple toes. And boy, did it hurt!

But that alone wasn't the problem. After snaking through the dumbest bright idea TSA came up for BWI's security checkpoint, I decided to head to the restroom and rid myself of some liquid that I had held in for hours. There were about six urinals open, and a guy was already using urinal number two. So being the smart gentleman, I went to urinal number four so as to give him some space. You know, this is a silent code of conduct that every man knows in regards to urinals. But as soon as I began letting my stream go, an old man (which, by the way, I have nothing against old people; it was simply an observation) came up to the bank of urinals and picked urinal number five, which was right next to me. When of all other urinals, he could have still maintained his code of conduct without being next to me.

Urgh!!! I mean, that bothered me somewhat, but not nearly to the extent of what happened next. I don't understand this, as urinals typically have a drip lip at the bottom, but sometimes I have always wondered why there were so much pee on the floor despite the innovative urinal design. And this old bugger somehow managed to splash his pee all over the place! And being right next to me, guess where some of that splatter landed?

On my exposed right foot. Which happened to be wearing my Crocs sandals. Open... Feet...

My jaws dropped to the ground. I was in shock. I was in utter disgust. I have never for once splattered myself while using the urinal, but how the hell did this old fart manage to pee and splatter onto me? As I muttered a muffled "mothereffer" and shook my head, I was then reminded of a similar incident over a month ago when I wore the Crocs to a movie theatre.

God, I need to remember lessons like this. So yeah, the trouble with wearing sandals is that although they are comfortable as they expose your feet to the elements, they also expose your feet to the unwanted elements, such as other peoples' pee. Or if you wear them to a bar, other peoples' drinks. Or the hot drunk chick's puke, whom you've been bumping and grinding the last half hour. Of course, other than the pee incident, the other scenarios are simply conjectural in nature. But one cannot help but imagine...

So yeah, I'm not sure if wearing sandals really suit me anymore. Of all the benefits I get from wearing them, I think the thought of being peed on is quite a rather turn off. Not even if I got stung by a jellyfish, which would necessitate someone peeing on me.

So yeah, that's the trouble with sandals.

Germaphobe And Prairie Dogs

Being a runner is no easy task. Running is not exactly an easy sport, unless you run for just a couple blocks. For me, when my weekly mileage can easy hit 30 miles or more, running becomes somewhat difficult. Unless, of course, you're a crazy marathoner who during non-training cycles simply enjoy running over 50 miles a week.

One may venture to think that running is a piece of cake; just lace up your trainers and go. But it's not all that simple. A smart runner will have to warm-up first, stretch properly before a run, run the grueling miles, be cognizant to remain hydrated, cool down, and stretch one last time. And on top of that, avoid bumps on the path or getting run over by unruly cyclists and automobiles. Sounds pretty hard, right?

And if you're like Danny Tanner* or me, then you will have at least one factor simply making a typical run harder.

You see, yours truly is a germaphobe. As a germaphobe, I do a lot of things differently. Whenever I need to wipe off the sweat from my face, especially around the eyes, nose or mouth, I get wary, because I know that I had touched the soles of my shoes during stretching. I can just imagine what other interesting things my soles have touched along the path. Remnants of dog poo is the least of my worries, especially when I have a very active and imaginative mind.

To this day, I have never, ever taken a dump in one of those porta-pots. The only way I have ever used one of them plastic porta-pots is when I have to pee. For some odd reason, fecal matter simply gives me the shivers. [Side note: This is why I am behooved to wonder why the practice of scat in the bedroom is even pleasurable at all.] And with almost 30 years of my life passed, I don't intend on ever dropping the kids off at the porta-pot pool in the next 30 years. Or the 30 years after that. The only exception, of course, is if the porta-pot was just delivered freshly cleaned, and I am graced as the first person to soil it. Then yes, I wouldn't mind one bit.

Sometimes, no matter how much preparation you have ensured to take, it is quite possible that shit just happens. Literally. It is my common practice that before each and every run lasting more than five miles, I will spend a lot of time on the porcelain throne to empty myself, all in the hopes of never having to sit in the porta-pots. And I've always sympathized with the girls, because big or small, or number one or two, they have to sit when using the porta-pot.

It's a vicious cycle, you see, because some girl afflicted with the same phobia as me will hover and pee all over the seat, causing the next girl to feel compelled to do the same, and before long, some girl needing to take a dump will be forced to hover and carpet bomb the entire seat. Now, I'm not saying girls are to blame here, but it is quite possible that boys may accidentally pee on the seat instead of using the wall urinal to the side, thus causing a very similar snowball effect.

Because of this very disturbing fact, I will at all cost not use the porta-pot for taking a dump. I have vowed since adopting my OCD complex at a young age that my smooth-skinned butt will never touch such nastiness. And to hell if I have to hover, because unlike girls, I have two little boys hanging out there, and the last thing I want to do is to soil my boys.

Unfortunately for me, no matter how much preparation I had spent before my past Monday 10 mile run, my large colon began complaining at mile 7.4. I knew there were at least several porta-pots around the 2.4 mile Green Lake loop, but I was so stubborn that I thought I could tough it out.

I thought things were going well, until of course my final mile. Instead of expending all my energy in maintaining a 10:30 minute mile pace, I was struggling to keep my shit in. Instead of motivating myself in the mind, One more mile; just one more mile, I was suddenly forced into motivating myself differently: Only another half hour before returning to the hotel; just another half hour! Surprisingly, I ran a faster pace during that final mile despite the fact that I was getting sore.

Maybe I should look into carrying several packets of alcohol swabs whenever I go run in public, because as an adamant germaphobe, there is absolutely nothing worse in the world than prairie dogging it while running.

* Tell me why I named Danny Tanner along with me, and I'll give you a nickel. =)

Will No Longer Be Careful...

For the most part, about 99.99% of the time, I have always practiced safe sex. I routinely get myself tested, just to make sure that I continue to stay clean and healthy. It is the fear of a sexually transmitted disease that drives me to be careful and not be the victim of some girl’s “oops, did I forget to mention that I have...” syndrome.

Well, today I think I may have a renewed fear that will actually drive me to be completely opposite of my longstanding way of life. From now on, I’ll make sure I won’t wear protection in the hope of contracting herpes. Why? Turns out herpes can kill cancer cells. And I’m more afraid of cancer than some stupid herpes!!! Lucky for Paris Hilton, she definitely will never get cancer! ;-)

Okay, I’m totally kidding. At least about purposely increasing my risk of contracting herpes. But news from the cancer research community brought some promising future in the fight against cancer. A German biotech company based in Munich, MediGene, reported on Saturday at the annual European Society for Medical Oncology meeting in Switzerland that a modified version of the herpes simplex virus will kill cancer cells (of colorectal and liver) while they grow on them, at the same time leaving healthy tissue alone. Colorectal cancer is the second leading cancer killer in the United States.

Obviously, this is good news!

The Power of Genetic Engineering

We all have heard of genetic engineering at one point or another. Surely you know what a mule is, right? It’s a cross between a horse and a donkey. The mule is the perfect example of the most, basic rudimentary example of genetic engineering that has been practiced for centuries. Then there are the modern ones like the broccoflower; or the corn designed to withstand drought or certain pests that we have been eating all these years; or even the Liberty Link, the genetically altered rice, that was still in experimental phase that somehow ended up in our American food supply; or even StarLink, the genetically altered corn that was approved only for animal feed but somehow ended up in taco shells produced by Kraft.[1]

Anyway, I’m against genetically altered foods, as we have no idea what ramifications they can have to us humans when consumed. But one thing is for sure: the bastard child between a horse and a donkey will surely grow up to never be able to reproduce. Hmm... That in of itself is a bad sign of genetic engineering, right? So why would anybody want to eat such foods that have no known consequence (yet)?

Although this is a very serious topic that I’ll bet very few Americans are aware of, my point is not the ethicality behind genetically engineered food. I suspect that there is a widespread conspiracy between and within the government and the food industry to let loose genetically engineered foods of all kinds to the public, much like how the government back in the day conducted chemical experiments on the unknowing public without notification, such as mustard gas, lewisite and LSD.

Don’t believe me? Let me make my case. I strongly believe that peanuts are already genetically altered for some time now. Peanuts were purposely genetically altered so they can taste so damn good that they are addicting. Have you ever tried to stop eating peanuts after you popped a few in your mouth? That’s right. This genetic alteration was so intense that even other products containing peanuts can leave unscathed. See below:


Exhibit 1: Seriously! A talking M&M?


Exhibit 2: Ever heard of the two headed frogs found in ponds near nuclear facilities? Look what I found in a recent bowl of candies!


Citation [1]: Genetically altered foods are a serious matter. Both Liberty Link and StarLink were manufactured by the North Carolina-based biotechnology company Aventis Crop Science. Fortune magazine senior writer recently wrote an article about it on June 27, 2007. If you want to dive deeper into the serious side of the matter, which my blog entry briefly touched upon and focused more on the jovial and ridiculous side, go to the Attack of the Mutant Rice article on CNNMoney.com or Fortune Magazine.

Scientific Thought for the Day

This just goes on to show who weird my psyche can be. As usual, I had to drive through Edgebrook Woods in the Edgebrook Neighborhood of the northwestern edge of Chicago to get to Schaumburg. As the day was warm, driving down Devon Ave by the woods was kind of nice. If it wasn’t for the warm weather, one might accidentally mistake what beheld before my very own sight as light, fluffy snow.

But seeing that I was really smart in not taking my Zyrtec pill before heading out the door, my body was definitely trying hard as can be to tell me that I shouldn’t have such an active imagination. I started sneezing, and my sinuses began to swell up while I stumbled around the center stack for the button to activate air recirculation mode.

Yeah, you guessed it. Pollen. A normal person would have had two mental thoughts at that point, with the first being somewhat similar to this: “Oh, look how pretty it is with the wind blowing!” If not for that, then the other mental reaction would have been: “Damn the plants and Spring!” But yours truly? A totally different thought process was definitely going through my weird mind...

Check this out! I’m driving through Mother Nature’s menstrual discharge! Lovely...

I know this is strange, not only because my client told me so after I shared my thoughts with him, but additionally I have long realized that I am a rather factual person in nature. I’ll read up on crap that concerns me little, like medical journals, biology, psychiatry; all of which has nothing to do with my field of work or much less actual interest. Yet the breadth of topics that I deep dive myself into are so varied that people wonder why I enjoy immersing myself in knowledge. And it is from this that gave birth to the whole menstrual discharge analogy.

Just think of it. And try to remember what you learned from botany class in high school. Fruits like apples and oranges of a plant are nothing more than the herbal equivalent to the human uterus. Strange as it sounds, the functions and purposes are analogous with striking similarity in human biology. In fact, such analogies serve the purpose of easily understanding the different things that surround us in this world.

So if I was to analyze further, then the pollen that are scattered in the air are nothing more than a plant’s way of menstruating. But here lie in the problem. The process may be similar, but the functions are completely different. In humans, the purpose of menstruation is to discharge unfertilized eggs. But in plants, the purpose is quite the opposite, as the discharge serves the purpose fertilizing by “spreading your seeds” as far and wide as possible.

Wait a minute!!! Maybe I was wrong all along about menstruation! Perhaps all those pollen floating around are nothing more than a plant’s ejaculation...

Okay, I think I’m getting sick now. Enough scientific thoughts for the day...