Archive for February, 2014

Dear Puppies: Bathroom Time Trauma

Dear Reagan,

Sometimes when I have you out in the front yard waiting for what seems like hours of debating where you would like to do your business, I’m just in awe at how you can pop a squat anywhere, no matter who is watching, without a care in the world.  I wish I could do that.  Well, not me, but humanity.  Well, not really that either… Think of how disgusting that would be!  But still, I would probably not be on Prozac if I didn’t have all of the stresses that come along with going to the bathroom.

Think about it: before I knew better I didn’t think anything of it.  When I had to go I would just crawl to my special place under the kitchen table and fill my diaper.  When I had to pee a couple years later and my mom was taking too long to answer my cries of needing to go I just pulled my pants down right in the middle of Ken’s Pizza.

But that was before the proper rules of bathroom etiquette were conditioned into my mind, ruining the rest of my life: Continue reading

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Dear Dream Self: Irrational Fears

Dear dream self,

Chances are that if I am dreaming, I am having a nightmare, and a vivid one at that.  I’ve lost count of the times in which I’ve been chased by zombies, demonic creatures, and good ol’ variations of horrifying humanity.  This terrifying choice of nighttime entertainment for my REM cycling usually goes as you would expect, with a lot of screaming, crying, and running that eventually carries me back to my reality in my darkened room, but my daytime concerns managed to assimilate into my dreamscape in a very interesting way two nights ago.

Earlier that day I found that I had left my deodorant at my parent’s house.  It’s not like I had plans to run a marathon or anything, but the masking of stinky armpit odors is a comfort that I have grown used to seeing as I sweat like a man with his bits in a vise, often with minimal amounts of provocation.  Seriously, there’s a reason I only ever wore white shirts to basketball and lacrosse practice, more often than not with an extra tank top layer of protection so no friendships would be lost to the accidental exposure to my moisture soaked back. Continue reading