This blog explores the breadth and depth of just how truly horrible I am at being an adult.


Saturday, June 28, 2008

I think poop is funny (Part the First)

To me, the following clip nears the pinnacle of comic genius. Simple, yet excrement-filled...

I have this friend, Jeff, that I met in college. Whenever somebody mentions poop getting on someone's body (it comes up surprisingly frequently...), he bursts out laughing and asks, nay, DEMANDS that I tell the following story. And I always comply with great gusto.

So my high school punk band, Anti-Life (sick name, am I right?) was supposed to have this show at this old abandoned house. The walls were spray painted with our logo (with the "A" in "Anti" replaced with the Anarchy symbol, of course) and random mottos of the day like "Please Die" and "Abort Yourself." We were pretty edgy for being from Marin, the second-richest county in America.

Well, one night, as we were scoping the "venue" for our "gig" my buddy James suddenly declared, "Dude! Guys! I gotta poop. Let's go."

Now, with emphatic delivery like that, you know the poop is imminent. We, being the nice guys/good friends that we were, replied, "Fuck you, dude. Hang on."

"No. Guys. I gotta shit. It snuck up on me hella bad. I gotta shit."

I can't imagine how different my life would be if someone (I forget who, but bless his soul) had not yelled out, "Just take a shit in the road, dude."

Someone else, equally brilliant and worthy of sainthood chimed in, "Yeah, dude, we'll give you all the money we all have in our pockets if you take a dump in the middle of the road."

We counted out cash. We had eight dollars. And James, smelly hippie James who came from the town where there was the single biggest LSD bust of all time, accepted.

This abandoned house was right before a coastal county park that was kind of removed from town, but if anybody happened to be going into or out of the park, it would be via this road. And I can imagine a few reasons why people would be driving in and out of the park late at night; McNear's Beach Park has some sweet make-out spots.

So we four onlookers ascend a small hill to where we have parked our car, my buddy Sean's Explorer. We gaze down from a safe distance as already-smelly James pops a squat that straddles the center line. We await a few seconds and I see what we were all hoping we would see; approaching headlights.

Someone yells, "CAR! JAMES! CAR!"

Then I hear the most heavenly words my sixteen year-old ears had ever heard flow sweetly from James' mouth as he stands up and runs out of the road... "It's dangling! It's dangling!"

James' poop was hanging from his cheeks as he ran up the hill to us. But by the time he reached us, the situation had changed. "It's all over my legs now, guys!" Whether it had changed for the better is for you to decide.

James, as ashamed as someone who doesn't regularly shower can be, said, "Let's go. I just gotta get to a bathroom and clean up or something. It's on my pants and stuff."

We, his friends, were in such a mob mentality that we all spat back at him, "No, fucker. If you don't go down there and finish your shit, we're not giving you your eight dollars."

We knew James' love of money and apathy towards hygiene too well. He descended the hill and dropped trow in the middle of the road.

God has comedic timing, folks. I don't know what the hell James was doing at this point, but when we yelled out, "CAR! JAMES! CAR!" again, the stars must have been aligned in our favor, because as we see James running up the hill this time, he's gripping his own head (picture an exasperated accountant or a man in disbelief that he doesn't have his toupee on). What is so fortuitous about this all is that as we first see his head-gripping silhouette, we hear him yell the newly-crowned sweetest thing my sixteen year-old ear had ever heard; "IT'S ON MY HANDS! IT'S ON MY HANDS!"

For those of you not following the story thus far, let me break it down like a logic problem for y'all. James has his hands on his head. James has poop on his hands. Therefore, James has poop on his head.

Imagine four sixteen year-olds laughing so hard they feared they might die of asphyxiation and let me recap. James has poop on his butt. James has poop on his legs. James has poop in his pants. James has poop on his hands. James has poop in his hair.

And that is just the first half of the story. Stay tuned to learn about how we cleaned James off and the strangers who watched/cheered us on.

Friday, June 27, 2008

I don't know how to interact with girls

The first issue I have in regards to interacting with girls is a prima facie problem; I still call them girls. Now that I'm an adult, I really need to get on the boat of calling girls by their adult names, such as "women" or "ladies." A few "women" have called me out on it and it's stopped me dead in my tracks in my path to having them let me touch them.

I went out to some bars in San Francisco last weekend. I hit it off with a girl at one of the drinking establishments I stopped by. Sorry. I hit it off with a woman. She was extra not-a-"girl" because she was four or so years older than me. Hey-Oh! Put a check in the box marked "Tony is an adult"! Four years older than me!? That surely makes me an adult! Nay, my friends, nay. I neglected to tell you that, like some depraved, over-sexed seventeen year-olds, said woman and I started making out at the bar against the wall. Go ahead and erase that check from the "Tony is an adult" box. Grab your RoseArt crayon and and childishly scrawl an X in the "Tony is a Bad Adult" bubble. And then eat the crayon. It's okay, it's non-toxic.

Okay, regardless of all that. I actually went on a date with this same woman the next day. An adult-ish date, no less. Things go surprisingly well. She's a really nice, sweet girl. Woman. She's definitely a real adult. She's got a real job in a real office and everything.

She, for some reason, finds me nice enough to invite back to her place. Fast forward a few hours and we're laying down together (don't let your dirty minds wander; it was totally chaste). I can call it cuddling, but I can't tell if that's really an adult thing to say or a childish one. But anyway, that's what we were doing. She looks at me and says, "Tony, you were in a comedy group in college. Tell me something funny."

This is where shit gets really, really un-adult. This is where someone who is good at being an adult would say something like... I don't know. I'm such a frickin' man-child that I can't even think of what a mature person would say. But let me tell you what I did say ...

"So my first job, when I was fourteen years-old, was working down at Fisherman's Wharf. I worked at a crab shack. You know, cracking crabs, boiling lobster, frying fish, selling it all to tourists. Well, at the end of every day, I would end up smelling of what I was cooking all day: seafood. I reeked of it. It oozed into and out of my pores.  I would take the ferry back to the North Bay, where I lived. Now, when I got on the ferry, it was commute time. Everyone's leaving San Francisco. I would rush on and grab a seat. And, since it was such a packed ferry, all the seats around me would get taken right away. Totally wiped from a day of dishing out crab salad to German backpackers, I would fall asleep immediately. I would awaken a few minutes before we docked in Larkspur, and you wouldn't believe what I saw... All the seats around me would be empty. Yet it was standing room only. I smelled so bad that these people would rather stand up for the hour-long ferry than sit next to me and bear my stench."

Yeah. I said that to a woman in bed. I did it. But the fun didn't end there, folks. Before she could even tell me, "That is so gross," I continued...

"Now, my dad worked not too far away so some days he would drop me off in the morning and pick me up when my shift was over. I remember one of the first days after work, I stepped into his car and I smelled so bad of crab guts and sizzling clam-oil, he said, 'Oh my god. Please fart.'"

This the story I told to a nice, attractive girl as I was in her bed. And that is a reason I'm a bad adult.

Disclaimer: The girl (hehe) in this photo is not the one mentioned in this post.