I lost a follower today.  I think it was all the poop talk.
thankfully, I saw this commercial today, so my poop clean up needs are well in hand.
 
 

Let's list the things that are totally fucked about this commercial.

1.  Grown-up woman seductively lowers glasses to check out a male toddler.  Sexualization of kids anyone?  it's not just for Japanese comics anymore.

2.  The baby is wearing a diaper that looks like a banana hammock.

3.  The diaper either is made out of, or made to look like, jeans.  Seems especially smart on these 100 degree days.

4.  With the hipster looking on, the baby crawls into his(?) shmancy car--extending the subjective beauty standard onto babies.

5.  These are limited edition diapers.

6.  This is the stupidest friggin idea i have ever heard.  Stupid enough, in fact, that when it came on my television, i looked toward my gf in disbelief and she replied, "no, it's for real.  it's not a joke."  I kept hoping it was an SNL commercial gag skit that i had missed during the 10-15 or so years i stopped watching cause it wasn't funny.

But let's give the advertisers the credit that they deserve, the voice-over is funny.  he says:

"My diaper is full . . .  full of chic"
"when it's a number 2, i look like number 1."
"i poo in blue."

and my favorite, the tagline:  The coolest you'll look pooping your pants.

Come on guys, we can all agree that that is at worst, kinda funny. 

I'm totally going to lose another follower today.  Sigh.

If you don't understand the title of this post, a Hot Carl is very similar to Chili Dog and just south of a Tahitian Mask.  All of these have nothing to do with temperature, food, or culture, and everything to do with fetishist sex moves involving feces.  Oh, p.s., this is gonna be one of those posts where i talk about feces.  Sorry for the late notice.

Anyhooo, all of this is to say i've been getting shit on.  And while i like to keep most of my "real world" problems off the blog, i do have a remarkable story from yesterday about . . . well . . . life imitating life.

My college friends recently had their second daughter Cassandra (on my gf's bday!) a month ago, and, while i was fortunate enough to meet Cassy's sister Phoebe on the day of her birth, Cassy's selfish parents decided to deliver Cassy in Minnesota, where they were living at the time.  Selfish.  And being that "college friend" is just a euphemism for "family," I've been chomping at the bit to meet my new niece.  So now fast forward to a month later, and my peeps have moved back east, and I got to hold one-month old Cassandra.

*Tangent.  I have a soft spot for second-borns.  I am the second born of a first-born mother and father and brother.    The way I see it, second-born's are rarer than first-born's and therefore innately more valuable.  Like diamonds and other precious and semi-precious stones.  End Tangent*

Now I love Phoebe (whose 3 now), but man does she have a ton of energy.  And she always has.  And energy in a wee born = a ton of noise.  Cassy on the other hand . . . Cassy seems mellower.  Which is why, for the first 3 hours of our acquaintance, Cassy was completely asleep.  If i didn't see her tiny heart beating, I would have thought she was made of plastic.  As I was getting ready to depart for the drive home, I got to hold Cassandra May for the first time while she was awake and conscious.  I held her with my hand cupping her torso, her back/backside against my chest.  Tiny, gorgeous, and precious.

And then i felt what I can only describe as a tiny squirt of mustard, straight out of the plastic dispenser nozzle, hitting my chest softly like an elvish paintball.  And then, someone squeezed that mustard bottle, and a lump, which felt more like a meatball, struck in the same spot as the elvish bullet.  In our first official meeting, Cassandra May shat on me, and she shat on me good. 

My first thought was that I was glad that when the dump hit, combined with what was a disproportionately large stench, that I didn't just drop the kid.  I'm not sure if that means I have a paternal instinct or that I have all my chromosomes.  Either way, I'm glad I didn't drop the kid.  That would have been . . . . embarassing!!!  (but it would have taught them a lesson about having their kid in the Midwest).  My second thought was that I was proud that Cassy shat like a real woman.  It really stunk ya'll.  Even Cassy's mom was left wondering what she had eaten.  Lastly, I thought how happy I was that I had passed some of my gene's on to my new niece.  Us big shitters, i mean second-born's, gotta stick together.

Some of you may remember a series on did on the blog called "The Five People You Meet When You Go into the Men's Locker Room."  If you haven't read them, you can find them over on the right in the archives.  Long story short, swimming is (one) of my exercises of choice, and the things i encounter in and around the pool area are constant blog fodder.  So, instead of resisting the urge, I'm going to continue to fill you in on recent happenings in the gym.

So, one thing that has really started to piss me off is this guy.  He still leaves his gross ass bathing suit hanging there on the outside of the locker.  And i'm over this craziness.  I spent a lot of time trying to find a solution that A) didn't directly implicate me  B) wasn't overly harsh (i mean, he's not poisoning children after all) C) gets my point across.  Here's what I have come up with:

One of my least favorite things to do is take knots out of shoes, pant strings, etc.  I decided that i would bite the bullet and touch this gross thing, in order to be the change i want to see in the world.  A few days ago, after my swim, i pulled a nice tight knot into one of his draw strings.  The next day, I pulled one into the other string.  Today (I hadn't swum since last Wednesday), I pulled a third knot in.  I am a Social Psychologist after all, and the opportunity for me to have a little fun with this seemed necessary.  Here are the rules as i see them (and they are admittedly loose and subject to immediate change.)

1. Only one knot per visit.  So if he keeps pullin' em out, i'll just keep puttin em in.  But gradually.
2. I don't pull knots on top of other knots (to make a sorta mega-knot)--all knots get their own space on the wire.

And that's about it.  I'm actually pretty interested in how long this continues on for.  I mean, from his perspective, do you really start thinking someone is tying knots in your bathing suit?  Or i guess, more accurately, the question is, WHEN does one start thinking that someone is tying knots in their bathing suit.  We will all get to find out together!  Current knot count:  3.


stay tuned for more locker room fun coming soon. . .