Shy Johnny

  When I got to go and I want to go alone. Lets just say, it doesn't always work out the way I want.

 

I have a shy Johnny. I call it Johnny because it's no Johnson. Whenever I go take leak I have to time it. Before entering the restroom, I have to look over my shoulder. Like I'm being followed by the urinal police. I have to give Johnny a little pep talk. Okay an average pep talk. Okay, maybe I'm stretching a bit.  I'm like the pitching coach on the mound and Johnny is the relief pitcher. Okay the count is two balls and no strikes. You got this! You got a one minute window. Now get busy! No one is coming in. No one is looking at you junior. Besides you're walled up at the thighs with porcelain. 

Then it happens, someone walks in and he stands right next to me. It's not like he didn't have any other options. He did. There was at least four other available urinals. Right next to me and the shy guy. Now the shy guy becomes the dry guy. It's not like he going to break the ice. Heck, he can hardly break the urinal ice. There I am focusing on a speck on the wall, eye level, right in front of me. Engaging in a silent conversation with Johnny. Come on, it's just some guy who obviously has confidence and a big bat. He's having no problem. You can plainly hear that. It's not like you have talk to him. Hello sir. Yes, you say Sir, because you got to respect a guy who can stand tall and let it flow. What would say anyway? You'd never say, "How's it hanging?" unless of course, you wanted to find out. 

Some guys want to see how far away they can get from urinal and still make it in. Working on their arc, like practising free throws on the basketball court. So it's not hard  to see how it is hanging. Heck, Some guys are dribbling on their way up to the urinal. Some guys clear their throats at the precise time the flow starts, so you don't hear the initial lack lustre surge. 

Sometimes, I have resort to the stall because of urinal overcrowding. I stand there and flush just for encouragement but you got to time that too. One flush is acceptable. Continuously flushing, brings up red flags. Then the dialog continues come on Johnny beat the flush. You can do it.  Back to my urinal Johnny.....

I am now looking down in disgust. I think, awe zip it. I really think f it but the sound of zipper drowns it out. Now I have two choices.  Walk to the stall and let the guy know that yup, I'm a freak, or wash up so he can see that I'm a clean freak. I walk out the conversation continues. Really, I can't believe you. It's just a natural bodily function.  Like a dog getting caught doing a bad thing. My Johnny just hangs there like a tail between my legs. This is why I never shop. Its usually one of two things. Literally. It's like I'm the bathroom inspector everywhere I go. And everywhere I go, I have to go. And some places I really don't want to go.

I'm so glad it doesn't cost a quarter to spend a penny. I'd have keep a roll in my pocket at all times. I don't need that kind of attention.

To shrink or not to shrink

 I don't like talking about my crazy shit stuff. I've spent the better half of sixty years hiding, fearing and shaming. Gee, that sounds like a new Journey song. Na na na na na na na. Anyway and yes I know, you should never start a sentence with anyway but I'm doing it, anyway. Hey! this is all about comedy, errors are expected. Sue me! Anyway (there, I did it) I went to see a therapist for a couple reasons. One, to debunk my then wife's' diagnosis. To prove that I wasn't a passive aggressive ass-hole.   Moron? Maybe.  But I'm not an oxymoron, moron. I mean, can you be passive and aggressive at the same time? The second reason was obvious, to rearrange the therapists office, starting with her unused coasters. They were definitely placed haphazardly. Then it happened. She started asking questions. Imagine that, a social worker asking questions. I thought I was there as interior designer not a client. Question one. Why did your wife call you passive aggressive? At that I stood up, passively walked over and gently fixed the picture that was noticeably slanted. I answered,  I don't know! she's the one who needs a therapist! Making sure my tone was neither passive nor aggressive.  I sat down and didn't realize that while I was answering the question, I was aggressively fixing the throw pillows.  In my mind I was thinking. What kind of therapist is she? Look at her desk! Books and papers everywhere! I thought I was messed up. If this is a reflection of how good she is well... She interrupted mental meltdown. Then she said the following ( I had two options. One, move the furniture or two, move my ass out the door) She continued, I find that most people who are passive aggressive are neither passive nor aggressive. I tried not look surprised. Really? Was the only audible sound I could muster. My inside smart ass voice barked out. Sounds familiar. My finely tuned smart ass mind thought, like I didn't know that. Hello! Then she added something. Yes, most people are just hiding something. That phrase caused my back hair to rise up and yell "WTF"

Me hide? But I didn't respond. Me hide was all in my head. So was me not hiding. All in my head. Oh, I was hiding.  In fact, I've been hiding forever but that was another story (I'll leave that for future blogs)and I wasn't going to get into it at this session. I left the office out of sorts. The office was sorted and even though I went out,  I wasn't out. I could never disclose what was really going on in my mind. Her office wasn't big enough for the changes I would have made. 

What did I learn?

            Relationships are two way street, sooner or later someone has to be the frog

I guess she stayed on the sidewalk, while I dodged traffic.  I was dodging more than traffic. Let's just say that this frog needed to get real and get his legs before he lost them under a semi. It was either going to be splat or I was going to have to jump into  the first orange convertible VW bug, that just happened to be driving by. Luckily, I didn't have to wait too long. I jumped into that bug. It's in my driveway.  Driven by the best friend a guy could ask for, my partner John. Were are just two frogs playing in traffic, going where the road leads us.  Life is good. Gribit!

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One Foot Out

 I was born with one foot out. I think it was my left. Well, I wasn't quite born yet. I couldn't see where I was going or when I was going to get there but I did see a little light shining up through well, I'd rather not say. So there I was hanging out of the, rather not say, when my Mother's water broke. She didn't even know it. How did she not know, you might ask? Well, I'll just assume you did. She was in the shower. It wasn't her first rodeo. I was just another small clown trying to get to the circus. She prepared like all the previous births. At the first sign of contractions, she thought might as well get cleaned up. I don't know why, things are going to get messed up, in the hospital. You could say I was born a son of a breach. But that would mean my mom was too. Never mind. I came out alright and being a breach never gave me a big head. Okay, maybe a little bit.

Fishing Bug

I like nature. I really do. Nature doesn’t like me. Okay just the bugs. I think God knows about this and whenever he or she and his angels need a laugh they just dial up f bombs and tantrums. Apparently, my channel in heaven.

 Fishing in near north Ontario.

 I don't know why they call it the near north. It’s like north had a meeting and decided you can’t call yourself north, we will give you near north, because you are just up to it. Near is all we have left. Take it or leave it. Somewhere on a lake in the Canadian shields in the near north, is a man on a boat wondering about such things. Is there a near south? What happened to near center. F it, near north. We the north. We from Toronto. We the center. WE don't know!

The Near North Buzz.

The near north have black flies. Hey, I didn’t name them. They should have been called them ass flies, because they are a pain the ass and have no problem taking a chunk out of your ass. Oh, and their dear cousin, the deer fly, not so dear. The common Deer fly have only one mission. To piss you off. To fly in circles around your head singing a high pitched na, na, na, na, na, na, until, like the lunatic, you start swinging frantically yelling f off or bite me already.

One day I was fishing with my brother. I had a brand-new Shakespeare 010 sigma reel and an ugly stick rod combo. I covered myself in musk-oil and I was standing at the edge of a boat dock, ready to catch whatever fish liked the smell of musk-oil infused lures. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shinning. The birds were singing. That's when it happened.  Deer fly at one o'clock. It came in hot, smelt the musk-oil and laughed. He he. It started circling my head. It was operation, piss Dennis off. Buzzing around playing that annoying game your brother plays with you. I'm not touching you. I yell back I'm not just going to touch you, I'm going to kill you! I tried to swat it Zorro style with my fishing rod. No dice. Tennis style with my hat. Whiff. Then I thought just spit at it. Well I spit at it. Missed the fly and hit my brother right between the eyes. The water was cold that day. The spit to response reflex was unexpected but deserved. The thrust of his two hands to the chest knocked me off balance just enough to send me off the dock. Oddly enough, in that moment I planned for the submergence. I Landed feet first while raising my fishing rod above my head. It was the only thing not wet when I emerged from the lake. My day was done.  But it had just started for my little winged friends. I walked back to the trailer with even more friends black and deer flies. They were having a party. Circling my head, biting my ass. Hey, look its Dennis. Want to have fun? Who’s the wet stinky guy? na na na na na na.....

The Rest Stop

 

I am getting older. I don't want to admit it, but I am. If you are older, you need to plan rest stops. Especially, if you drive for a very long period of time. Don't worry though, your old body will tell you when it is time and listening to your old body is a good thing. Not listening, well let just say, a bad thing. However, you can listen to your body but urge to purge could be stuck between the bladder and your little friend. Okay your big friend. Your average friend? Your friend in low places. Sometimes the flow don't want to go. You want to sing oh what a beautiful morning but the song is different when the flow don't wanna go. Maybe sometime this morning would be better choice. A very long old American standard sung by a very old urinal crooner. Really, sometimes it's like pushing an avocado pit through a straw. Luckily, I still have a good flow. You didn't need to hear or care about that but wait, something good is going to come out of this or that, hopefully.

When I was a young man I could put out a campfire with you know, pee. Now I wonder if I can put out a match. Oh, the youthful days by the stream, splashing, making ripples, waves and pulverizing the urinal puck. Oh it's was fun being young competing in the porcelain games. However, it is a fierce competition. It's for this reason, I don't use the urinals. The whole pre-race ritual of breathing and positive self talk, goes down the drain (the only thing that goes down the drain) if someone stands beside me. It goes from I got this to I got nothing, real fast. It's not that I'm afraid some guy beside me is going to see my stuff. That wouldn't happen. Because my stuff is hidden by a wall of porcelain. Dejected by my own stupid insecurity, I zip it and go to the stall.

I'm in the stall and I know there's some young punk in the next stall because I hear, Niagara Falls. I got to compete. I'm not washed up. I got this. I muster enough force but it's too late my penis knows I can't compete. So I get two toilet paper rolls and put them under both knees. Kneeling, I think. I got this. This kids going down. The closer you get to the surface the bigger the splash, I thought. Think again. And then there is the sounds of silence. Not the song the kid next door is done and he is on to me. There's  knock on the stall door. The kid says Hey are you okay man. Now any hope is shriveled up and dry. 

My response. Just praying. 

 

Baby Boomers

 I am a late blooming baby boomer. That just means I didn't get busy until I almost couldn't get busy. 

What a weird name. Baby boomers. What if they all instead of dying from cancer and heart attacks, they just one day died of natural causes. You know. Exploding. Just random people walking down street. Just exploding. Zombies you can outrun but that overweight bald guy walking beside you. A ticking time bomb. 

Nothing but booming boomers everywhere. No mask is going to save you. Better pack a slicker. The hell with the weather, you got bigger unnatural natural disasters waiting for you.

And walking down the street is no walk in the park either. Hey look! there's my old pal George. You shake George's hand and he explodes. The only thing left of George, is in your hand, his hand.

Texting while driving suddenly doesn't seem like a big deal. Waiting a red light, a bit bigger deal. Especially, if the windows are down. Suddenly, the punk with the boom box is tolerable. That old lady beside you driving with her nose and two hands at ten and two. The ultimate boom box. Well lets hope you see green before an over abundance of red.

And going to the show is no picnic. Now you have a roomful. There you are on a date. The movie is a thriller and so is ever seat in the place. Suddenly, you hear a boom. You think its on the screen and it is. It's on the screen, on the chairs, on the floor, everywhere. Honey, can you pass me the bloody popcorn, is literally, bloody popcorn. Never mind.

Going out for dinner. You can might as well comment with this place blows on yelp. It's your bloody food and the bloody wait staff.  And for once it's not there fault. It's the guy answering the phone. He left out one important question. How many in your party? Is a good question. What time? A good question. How old are you and the people coming with you? Should probably be the first question. I'm sorry sir we are full.  And don't think you can just walk in. Trust me they can see you coming. They don't mind seeing going as long as you are going outside. I'm sorry sir, we are full. You look and see an empty restaurant.  Ya, I see you're full of something, let us sit! The guy barks back I'm sorry sir, we can not seat you for insurances purposes. You yell Insurance purposes? This place blows as you walk out the door and blow up.

Going to see a comedian is an adventure. Dying laughing, which never happens, is now a possibility. After the show your fellow comedian friends are drinking at the bar. The all say the same thing Man I killed out there tonight. Oh yea what's the body count?

I am a baby boomer and suddenly watching my blood pressure don't mean shit. Eating a healthy diet same thing. Spontaneous combustion is nothing compared to this. You can't stop, drop and roll this shit out. I would really like to one day have the courage to do stand up. My biggest fear is not stage fright. It's the one night a I stand out there and really bomb.