ponkey moop

Off my chest

2005-01-11T06:53:00.000-08:00

I don't know if this was posted or not and I have to work in like five minutes, so this is gonna be quick,
Yesterday my Sociology teacher was expounding on his experiences in Washington DC when he pretended to be homeless for a day or two. No one would let him in to use the bathroom so he urinated on the Library of Congress. Being a member of this upstanding institution, and knowing full well there are a multitude of lesser buildings in the area, quite perfect for peeing on (just ask Drew) I was somewhat incensed.
How would he like it if some member of the library of Congress were to pee on his class room, or his home? Perhaps he just needs a taste of his own toxic medicine.

Off my chest

2005-01-11T06:49:00.001-08:00

I gotta work in like five minutes, so I'll make this quick,
My Sociology teacher was telling us about his experiences in Washington DC when he pretended to be homeless for a day or two. No one would let him in their store to use the bathrooms, so he urinated on the Library of Congress. Being a member of that fine institution I was incensed to say the least.

I Heart Christmas Break

2004-12-22T10:40:00.000-08:00

For those of you unaware, I have been in the blissful state of vacationing student now for almost a week. The first morning was glorious. I sleep in a basement, so my hibernation is entirely devoid of any solar interference. I woke up at noon. The house was empty. An entire house to myself. Amazing. I made my way up the two flights of stairs in my underwear pausing in the family room to play Cannon on the piano. As I meandered through the kitchen, I made a mental note of the Costco muffins on the table, filing the thought away to be extracted later for my one o'clock in the afternoon breakfast. Having full access to a water heater with the capacity to fill six people's showers I took just as long as I pleased, letting the powerful thermal spray splash in a therapeutic bounce off my shoulders. Over a warm muffin and a mug of cold milk I read my scriptures and then polished the entire AM affair off with back flips on the trampoline. When my sisters arrived home from school at three, I proudly announced that I had only been awake for three hours. Their faces contorted in jealousy and disgust only fueled my glowing furnace satisfaction.
This morning has basically repeated itself five times. I think I could do this forever.
The only interruption has been when I had to take care of some dogs for two days. I had to walk them in the morning and it was so cold my face was going to fall off. The job required I clean up their poop, but I think we both know the chances of that happening are about as good as a frozen terd's chance in Hell. Besides that's all that came out, frozen cubes of feces. So I just kinda kicked the steaming mess in the gutter and put the dogs back in their house. They are really friendly and one even jumped face first into the side of the truck when it tried to leap in the back. That made me laugh. As nice as those dogs were, they smelled and it was cold when I had to walk them, so I'm glad that little bit of Christmas season employment is over.
At night I usually play a game with my family. Usually Scrabble or Mancalla (sp?). I had lunch with a friend from the MTC and their roommate. They work at a high school and it was weird to see how small all the high school kids are now. I am so glad I'm not in high school. That would suck. I mean it was fun way back then, but there are so many more worthwhile things than the limiting environment of public education. The only thing that got me through it was my ignorance of the beauty outside of Chantilly High. The bitter is satisfying enough, just so long as you've never put sugar in your mouth.
Vacation has been sweet so far, and its only gonna get sweeter because next week Jena, Erica, Tiff (?), Drew, and Duard (?) will be out here in DC to play with me. I can't wait!

UNCLEAN!!!! UNCLEAN!!!!! UNCLEAN!!!!

2004-12-04T18:13:00.000-08:00

Being the charitable soul that I vainly imagine myself to be, I went to donate blood this afternoon. I have been on a boycott of this life enabling business ever since that disaster four years ago. My freshman year at BYU I went in to give blood because for the first time in my life I was finally heavy enough to qualify. The paper work was a little extensive, but when I finally got in the chair the needle wasn’t as terrible as I thought it would be. In a morbid twist of fate I actually got a kick out of watching the sanguine fluid stream out my arm and through the tube. Just as the fourth, and final vile, was being filled, my scope of vision bounced concentrically three or four times and then collapsed completely. Instantly I condescended into a dark, timeless, whirl. When I finally “came to” there were seven nurses all around me holding me down and pinning blanket after blanket on top of my shaking body. If I had had the strength I would have judo chopped them all in the nose, because to be honest, it took a few minutes before I realized where I was. All I knew was they were touching me and I wanted them to stop. I moaned something unintelligible, and finding the judo chop course of action absolutely futile I resigned my self and allowed my consciousness to slowly restructure itself. After about a half hour of recovery, I stumbled out of the clinic with a handful of crackers and a t-shirt.
Due to the fever induced, hallucinogenic nightmare (dreamt entirely in “cartoon”) where I found myself in a perpetual jungle being chased by giant vines (like the ones out of Jumanji) bent on enveloping and suffocating me (see previous blog) I was rejected. I guess since I still cough up three colors every morning, my blood is “unclean.”
After years of years of therapy I finally get up the nerve to donate, and they turn me away because of my dirty blood. Go figure. On a more positive note they did still give me the free OJ and snacks for coming in.
I feel sort of bad because I have definitely utilized the donated blood of others during surgery, ect. and I have a friend with Porferia (that means he’s a vampire, but that’s a whole other blog in and of itself and this is already monstrously long) who needs to drink the stuff on a regular basis. oh well, there’s always next year right?
But I guess if I ever need surgery again, or am in a serious accident they can just hook Barbaranch to my IV because that’s all that’s flowing in my veins anyway.

Back to the Real World

2004-11-30T17:24:00.000-08:00

I now return from the blissful, carefree seas of vacation, back to the drudgery of higher education. But what a voyage it was!
For Thanksgiving dinner I took Ritz, Leah, and Nama to my Aunt Lu-Ann's house to prove to my family that I have friends. They were all impressed. In fact, if truth be told I think my Uncle Ron wanted to adopt Ritz. My Great Uncle and Aunt are classic Grandparents with all the knick-knacky craft stuff hanging up and horses in the back yard. Every kid's dream. When I tried to make the midget horse run, he tried to buck me off. So I put my feet down and got off. He was fun to ride, but not I wasn't about to sit on him if he was going to get all pissy on me. When we got home I went to bed immediately, because of our planned, early Friday adventures.
The next morning I participated in my first "Black Friday." It was NUTS! My Villa family (Ritz, Leah, and Nama) and I went to fight the trailer people in Walmart to try and get a supper deal on this digital camera. At six AM the restless masses attacked the freshly de-shrink-wrapped pallets of merchandise. I saw at least a dozen middle aged women get trampled by their hoarding peers, and more than one man catch a DVD in the eye. We snagged the camera (JENA, HOW DO YOU POST PICS?) and barely got out before the masses sucked us into their black hole of rabid stockpiling.
On Saturday I got to play with my new camera at Rachel's house *smile* I met her grandma, who is absolutely adorable. She will talk to you about anything for any length of time. She even came down and watched Rachel smoke me four times in a row on the pool table.
It was a good thing I went up to Alpine on Saturday, because that night this wicked virus seriously pimp slapped my chi. I woke up in the middle of the night shaking and each time I got to sleep again I had these awful dreams about me running through a rain forest over and over again. Each time these terrible vines would shoot out of no where, wrap me up, and strangle me. Eventually I regained some semblance of consciousness and stumbled into the kitchen where I poured myself some water and plopped down on the couch where I just drank, moaned, and tried not to pass out on the floor. I didn't realize Marc was sleeping on the other couch. My moaning not only woke him up, but probably freaked him out, because all I heard was this little voice from the dark saying, "are you dying or something?' I assured him I was and then told him of my crazy vine/suffocation dreams. More than likely this only increased my reading on his freak-o meter by six or seven points because his only response was, "dude.... uh.... that's weird." Then he rolled over and pretended to go to sleep, hoping I would actually die or at least go back to bed.
Sunday was a recuperation day for me and I started the Sabbath by coughing up three different colors. (my mom would be so proud!) To this day the nastiness comes up with the consistency of Elmer's glue. Just thought you might like to know.
Fortunately my Aunt Lu-Ann, bless her little midget horse loving heart, had packed me a tub of mashed potatoes. This meant I didn't need to cook! But she failed to include any gravy. Who eats plain mashed potatoes? I think that's a sin. Not wanting to transgress on any day, but more especially on the day of our Lord, I rummaged through the fridge for condiments. I came up with Ranch and BBQ sauce. Either of these alone tasted absolutely rancid, but combined they made the most delectable topping since chocolate shell coating for your ice cream.
I would like to take this moment to praise the virtue of the BBQ/Ranch combo, hereafter to be known as "Barbaranch." It’s good on just about anything. Hot dogs, mashed potatoes, sandwiches, pizza, fries, ect. I would imagine it would even be delicious if you just squirted it straight in your mouth.
But a treat of that magnitude has no place in the real world of the responsible college student. It must be reserved for places like the pleasure cruise of Christmas break. Just two and a half weeks until I grab my Barbaranch and drift off into the ocean of holiday.

Too early even for the Fantastic Four

2004-11-18T06:34:00.000-08:00

So I went to campus at SEVEN IN THE MORNING to sub for someone, whose client didn't even show up. But I guess since I still get paid I shouldn't complain, but I wasn't really covering because I desperately needed the money......... I was just trying to be nice. All I'm trying to say is it was early, cold, and the fact that I didn't even have to get up in the first place because the client didn't show makes me feel "ugh" all over.
As I walked up the steps to the JSB (Rachel dropped me off *smile*), I was debating to myself, as I so often do, which super hero I would want to be. I decided this morning I would very much enjoy being the Human Torch. It was ridiculously cold and I was thinking how much fun it would be to sit in front of the JSB as the Human Torch. I would sit, my legs straight out, with only my feet on fire. Then I would roast marshmallows over my own feet and hand them to people when they walked by. Then they could take a minute and defrost themselves by my glowing toes and have a warm tasty treat before they went to class.
Plus if I was the Human Torch giving out marshmallows maybe my client would have shown up.

Today is the Greatest Day EVER

2004-11-10T20:43:00.000-08:00

Here are the reasons why:
1. I finally woke up this morning having gotten enough sleep. Not just enough to function, but enough to be myself, be happy, and full of energy all day. It was AWESOME! I never realized how much my happiness depends on adequate rest. I feel like all systems are go and I can go out and enjoy life. Where as before I was merely a hollow, empty version of the real Chris.
2. I am listening to Benny King sing "Stand by Me"
3. I can honestly say I have bow staff skills. We finally put all the fight phases together in Stage Combat and went full speed today for the first time. The fight is about 50 moves long and when you get going fast enough the staffs heat up and they smell like burning candles. That’s when you know you’re hot.
4. Speaking of hot, I found out the other interpreters may not know my name but they refer to me as "the hot interpreter," or "the cute one." This came up when I walked into Jon's office and this interpreter told me her roommate was in one of the classes I terp for and she thought I was hot. I've never been so flattered.
5. As if my ego wasn't big enough the ROTC asked me to do pushups for little kids in Iraq. Each Push up was only worth 5 cents, but the ROTC kids were super nice and made comments as I pumped up and down on the cement like "Yeah baby!" "this kids a machine!" "look at him go!" "Are you sure you don't want to join the ROTC?" Granted their comments had purely fiscal motives, but still, I ate up the complements like a sumo in front of a bowl of rice.
8. When I got home I was going to make myself lunch and do homework. Then my sister Ritz came over. So instead of lunch and homework, we just ate ice cream, chips with salsa, and some turkey gravy roast (complements of Duard) and chatted for a while.
9. My roommates are so funny I wet my pants.
10. We CRUSHED the other wheel chair rugby team. 16-9. Our offense was close to flawless and our defense like iron. Plus I convinced Ben to start calling me "sweetness." Our team is SOOOOOOOO GOOD!
11. I came home from Wheelchair rugby and found Corey watching midget wrestling on TV. Funniest thing EVER! It was a match with Tom Arnold as a Ref with two midgets. One was named, "Puppet, the Psycho Dwarf." The insults were hilarious and the actual wrestling even more outrageous. As I see it, TV has reached an all-time high.
12. And the TOP reason this is the GREATEST DAY EVER, When Rachel comes home, she is going to let me hang out at her apartment and she is bringing a treat from the Malt Shoppe. I ADORE that girl!!!!!!!!!
*ear to ear GRIN*

Super Saturday

2004-11-09T20:48:00.000-08:00

So I went to the temple on Saturday. Guess who I got to do work for?
Mr. Rogers.
I was so happy I almost wet myself. Granted this Mr. Rogers was born in 1867 so it was probably not the Mr. Rogers of PBS fame. Although the TV mastermind was pretty old, so maybe it was him. I like to think it was.
I think Mr. Rogers and my dog Scruffy are the only two people....er.... "creatures"....uh...... make that,"things".. um.. I mean"deaths" I have cried over since the untimely demise of my gold fish "chomper" when I was seven. Yes, I was 22 when my dog and Mr. Rogers died. But they were both fundamental foundations of my growing-up and when they died it was a symbolic silencing of two of the most cherished eras of my childhood. After that day in July, I would never again be able to scratch Scruffy's back and watch his "happy dance," or feel his wet puppy kisses and see the awkward resistance on his little face as I tried to lick him back.
And who knows where I would be without Mr. Rogers? I learned SO much from that man. If anyone should have been president it should have been him. I don't think I have ever been as focused as I was every afternoon at 11 am when that sweet old man would change into his inside shoes, ask the TV audience how we were doing (to which I would respond "just fine, thank you"), and then watch with every other three year old as the Trolley would take us into make-believe land. Or something like that.
Any way, seeing as Scruffy needs no temple work done, and now that Mr. Rogers' salvation is as secure as possible, I am happy to say my afterlife experience should be, at least, in part a splendid reunion of youthful pleasures.

If Conan wore a suit he would probably be riding a Robo-dog

2004-10-29T16:56:00.000-07:00

I remember sitting in a doctor’s office in California, and seeing a poignant quote above his door. Masterfully engraved in the wooden panel were the words, “I cried because I had no shoes until I saw a man who had no feet.”
As beautiful as this sentiment is, this morning as I trudged through the rain, I experienced what might be seen as the antithesis this principle. I was content, maybe not happy, but content to make my way on foot through the drizzle, leaping puddles, and struggling against the masses, until I saw her.
Whizzing along outside the JSB was a girl in a motorized wheelchair (otherwise known as a “rascal” to those familiar with disability lingo). So instead of jumping the pools of water littering the sidewalk, she put that sucka in third gear and cruised right on through them. The throngs of students parted like the red sea in a unified motion inspired out of charity and self preservation. Not only did this lucky woman have a ride everywhere she went, but running along side her was a dog. He was a helper dog, obviously brilliant, as was indicated by his snazzy sweater.
And as we all know, the amount of clothing worn is a direct indication of intellectual capacity in the animal, as well as the human, world. I mean, consider the qualitative analysis of Steven Hawking and Conan the Barbarian. What if their garb was transposed? Can you imagine Professor Hawking explaining the photo electric effect in nothing more than a battle ax and a loin cloth? Or Conan decapitating the Snake Lord from the confines of a cardigan sweater? As humorous as those mental images are, they are utterly inane. Not that one is better than the other. Each man is different and has strengths that complement the other. While Conan could protect Stevie from hoards of the evil one, only Dr. Hawking could use relativity theory to calculate the gamma factor, relative to the rotation of the earth, of Conan’s sword as he disemboweled his enemies on a space craft traveling at seven eighths the speed of light. Despite his superior barbarian skills, the noticeable lack of clothing on Conan is indicative of his inferior mental capabilities when compared to that of the fully clothed Steven Hawking.
There are, of course, exceptions to the rule. Take the naturally nude dolphin for example. A genius among aquatic wonders, but, I believe, he is so smart that he understands the IQ/modesty ratio rule and in an effort to make people underestimate his brilliance, chooses to swim the seven seas naked as a jay bird.
Anyway, so the dog was one of those really smart helper dogs.
Upon seeing the blessings available to the physically handicapped and denied me, I became somewhat covetous. How does the fact that I can walk somehow make me unworthy of a dog that could score double my SAT scores, or a rascal of my own? In a perfect world I would have both of these commodities, only combined into one. A sort of super robotic dog with the smarts to do my homework and big enough to ride to school. Even if I was wearing nothing but tube socks and a tie, I’m smart enough to know that a riding a robo-dog to school beats the pants off walking to school. I’m sure someday the world will fulfill it’s utopian destiny and all will have their own computerized canine, but until then, these pleasures will be limited to the disabled.

The art of smiling

2004-10-20T13:44:00.000-07:00

There seems to be a constant cycle of goal setting in my life. It goes something like this.
A. Feelings of inadequacy inspire new goals. The accomplishment of which will restore my self esteem.
B. Attempt to accomplish said goals, and fall miserably short. Self worth takes a nose dive.
C. In an effort to regain my self respect, new goals are established (bringing us back to part A)
D. Repeat over and over and over again.
This cycle lends itself quite nicely to a maximization of effort, but provides very little opportunity for victory. I recognize this process is not all together fruitless. Even if the lofty expectations are not met, I do see the smaller, and perhaps more important, victories of personal growth. So although the exalted objective is rarely, if ever, attained, I still come out a better person.
Anyway, one of the most recent goals I have set for myself is to be happy independent of my environment. Any moron can feel elated if the conditions are favorable. But it is much harder to be the happy, polite, Christ-like people we should be if we are hungry, or cold, or if it has been.... I don’t know.....RAINING FOR LIKE THREE DAYS and the world smells like wet, dog butt. As a part of this goal I made it a point today to smile at strangers. Yes, it was awkward at first, but through a little trial and error I got pretty good at getting a smile back. Here are some of the things I learned about the art of smiling.
1. Girls are much easier to pull a smile out of than boys
2. Showing teeth is a must. Nothing is so sourly superficial as a smile with the lips pressed together. Giving this kind of smile will reward you with the same in return, and in reality that kind of grin is more creepy than anything else.
3. Timing your smile is essential. It varies from person to person, but most people feel comfortable staring at each other until they get within about eight to five feet of the person they are passing on the street, then they look down at the ground or off into the distance. So if you wait to long the stranger won’t even be looking for your smile. On the other hand, if you smile too early, the stranger won’t recognize that you are smiling at them. Besides, walking around with a perpetual happy face makes the phrase “grinning like an idiot” more than applicable and no one wants that. So you have to time it so you shoot the smile off your face just before the beginning of the “stare at the ground phase” of passing a stranger on the street.
4. Using the right stare, it is possible to “reel people in.” I found this particularly true when passing girls on the street. The key is to look at them like you recognize them, but can’t remember their name. They can feel you searching their face. When this happens the stranger will begin frantically searching your face, trying to remember where they met you, because the assume that if you recognize them, they should be able to recognize you.
Using number four, reel the stranger in as close as you can, (sometimes you can even get them to turn their head as they walk by). Then, when you approach the eight to five foot distance phase, crack your “searching face” into a smile and the stranger interprets this as “he looked at me, and likes what he saw.” Nine times out of ten the stranger will then involuntarily smile back.
Then you can finally chalk up a goal you actually accomplished and escape the self esteem destroying cycle of continually replacing unfulfilled goals.
I guess it is enirely probable that all these people smiled back because they just thought I was weird, but I like to think they took my smile as a compliment and not just the glazed over gaze of some psycho. Either way, I'm counting this one as an accomplished goal and not just an A for effort.

America is Wonderful

2004-10-19T18:52:00.000-07:00

I just saw the GREATEST TV show of all time. It's called "Biggest Looser." I never thought I could love a reality TV show. But this one (pardon the pun) takes the cake. Basically it is a fat camp brought into your home via the blessing of television. I laughed harder in a half hour of watching the obese sweat, cuss, and finally be wieghed as a group on a scale designed for livestock than I have in the past month. Funniest show EVER.

Bio 240

2004-10-19T17:36:00.000-07:00

It took fifty minutes to explain but the basic concept taught to us today in Molecular Biology was,
Fertility Clinics are the equivalent of spitting in the face of evolution

Anyone want some of my muffins?

2004-10-19T17:14:00.000-07:00

There are many things in life that make me smile. Being a proud member of the Capt. Crunch Club, wearing a spider-man costume, Dr. Mario, 99 cent Big Mac Monday with Corey, yoga, just to name a few all generate gargantuan grins. Also at the top of that list is Costco muffins. Now a I realize many of the things in my list apply specifically to me, but I think Costco muffins would make just about anyone smile. So when I went to have breakfast with Rachel I grabbed the last two muffins thinking this was just too perfect. I mean what are the chances? Cute girl, breakfast, and there just happens to be two muffins left? It was fate. Unfortunately it would seems the whole affair was fated for disaster.
I popped them in the microwave and headed over to apt 66. Banana nut is a bizarre flavor to begin with, but as I reached down to hand it to Rachel I noticed something particularly queer about this muffin. "I didn't know they put blue frosting on muffins," I ignorantly thought to myself. Then the thought struck me. "Banana Nut is weird, but not that weird....... that "blue frosting" must be MOLD!"
So the scenario instantly went from "boy gives pretty girl tasty treat," to "boy hands pretty girl a moldy mess of filth."
Houston, we have a problem.
There was no recovery possible. I yanked my hand back and threw the offensive sweet into the dumpster where it belonged, and then debated crawling in myself. I tried to make some witty comment regarding the fact that muffins are not supposed to be blue. But I think it was not so much witty as it was gross. Oh well.

Passion on Hold

2004-10-15T13:59:00.000-07:00

I will now attempt to answer a question that has been on everyone’s mind. That question is of course, “Why haven’t I married Kat?”
I wish there was a simple answer, but issues like this are hardly ever anything but complex. Honestly, we look great together. She is smart, funny, charming, and GORGEOUS. I am well....... lets just say she “compensates” for me. Like the ying and the yang, our chi just seems to mesh. Like peas and carrots...... *smile*.....
I remember the first time I realized we were meant to be together. I saw her gracefully gliding across the room. We had never met. We were like two love birds, who had also never met. It was only minutes into our first conversation, (I think we were talking about her grandfather and the value of ceramic eagles as gifts) I knew there was something special about this svelte someone standing in front of me.
I remember the brief stint last summer when we were dating were some of the happiest weeks of my life. I mean how many girls will let you pass out from heat exhaustion in their lap and then let you sleep there in your sweat, drooling on their leg while watching Billy Madison? I haven’t taken any polls, but I would imagine I could count the number on one finger.
A relationship brimming with rhapsody, but like the life size glow in the dark Yoda statue for sale on ebay, it was too good to be true. As blissful as those weeks were, it was obvious we were moving in different directions. We could live the lie for a little while, but an interpreter and a chocolate store executive? Who are we kidding? It just wouldn’t work. Maybe if I developed some sort of distain for the deaf or she acquired a chocolate allergy, then there would be some hope for us. But for now, it’s passion on hold.

Jock Talk

2004-10-15T09:36:00.000-07:00

I was in the locker room the other day, and while getting dressed, over heard the following conversation from two gym clerks who were tossing a plastic football back and forth. It went something like this:

Jock A: Dude, just stand still! I know what I'm doing!

Jock B: No way! You'll throw it hard, and when it hits the light I can't freakin' see it!

Jock A: I'm only going to hit you in the foot. Don't move!

*Jock A launches plastic football, propelling it so fast it whistles through the air and ends in a whack similar to hitting a slab of meat with a baseball bat*

Jock B: Damn it! That freakin' hurt you butthole!

Jock A: Dude, I am SO sorry. I seriously didn't mean to throw it that high. I told you not to move!

Jock B: What was I supposed to do? It was going straight for my nuts!

Jock A: No it wasn't! It would've hit your leg!

*Jock B finds football and cocks back to throw*

Jock B: Shut up and stand still!

Jock A: No way dude!

Jock B: Whatever.

*ball is then again heard whistling through the air, only this time only this time ending in a "clunk" All the four gym clerks erupt into hystarics*

Jock A: Freak dude! Why you gotta take head shots?

And to think these were the intellectuals who mocked my fragile frame. The wicked will punish the wicked.

My Favorite

2004-10-05T19:10:00.000-07:00

You should be so proud of me, this blog isn't crass or cynical
Maybe this is indicative of turning over a new leaf, or maybe just a moment of sentimental madness
"The Way to Happiness:
Keep you heart free from hate,
Your mind free from worry.
Live simply. Expect little. Give much"
-Democritus
BRILLIANT!

Someday I'll be a Man...... or so I'm told

2004-10-05T17:54:00.000-07:00

I remember PE in Junior High when they had that special class you had to get your parent's permission to be in. Then they told you all the things your parents were far too uncomfortable to discuss like where babies come from. Well I distinctly recall them mentioning a host of changes that take place in the body, and then seeing my peers go through these changes. One by one my friend's voices changed, they all filled out, and even started to shave. I waited for all these things to happen to me, yet here I sit eight years later, waiting. Will I ever hit puberty? It seems the only trait of manhood I ever developed was body hair. Lovely. I can shave a little, but nothing more than a little chin hair. My mustache doesn't even qualify for a mexi-stache and my voice cracks often.
As embarrassing as these physical retardations are, the worst was made painfully evident yesterday when I went into the locker room and asked for a medium shirt. I was shocked when they told me they were all out. I am usually the soul consumer of the medium shirt, because I am the only college student with a 12 year old body. Then the jock strap clerk offered a stinging explanation for the shortage of medium shirts. "We decided to give all the medium shirts to the girls." OUCH. He was either A) implying that I should be getting dressed in the girl's locker room, B) Only a boy with the frame of a woman would want a medium shirt, or C) both.
Maybe to speed up this whole manhood thing I should start doing manly things. The guys in my construction management seem to have it down. Those guys are leaps and bounds beyond just hitting puberty. Shoot, most of them are balding. They must be doing something right.
However, I saw something disturbing on Wednesday among this gang of masculinity. I saw two guys pick their nose. I understand a little nose cleaning isn’t exactly a crime against humanity, but they both did it with their pinky finger. Did they think they were tricking people? or that some how by using a more delicate finger, it made the practice of nasal mining more socially acceptable? Maybe it just shows you are a man. But I would think if you were a man, you would use something larger than your tiny finger. Like your thumb or a baseball bat or something. But your pinky? I tried it, to see if it would make me feel any more masculine, but it didn’t. There wasn't near the same scraping power, and the dexterity is severely impaired, resulting in more difficult harvesting angles.
Besides when I was done I looked in the mirror and I still had the build of a deacon and the acne of a tenderfoot scout.

Arithmetic of Worship

2004-08-15T16:40:00.000-07:00

Double the Church, double the blessings......... right? I hope so, because it felt like I spent alot of time in Church meetings today. After our meetings in Provo, well actually, after the first half of meetings, I left to ride up to SLC to terp for Emily's homecoming. I am pleased to announce that Rosa's cooking was everything it was hoped to be. Although with all of Emily's gringo family eating preferences, there was a disappointing void of violent spice that is normally synonymous with Rosa's cuisine. But fire or not, the food was still nothing short of Mexican manna. And it was great to be able to talk with them again! They take off on Tuesday, so I'll try and see them on Monday if possible. And if not, well...... thats just another excuse to get back to Cali! Road trip! yahoo!!!!!!!!! During my anti-work weekend, Jon has been very busy packing. This makes me nervous because we are leaving at the same time for Minnesota, so maybe I should have been packing too. oh well. Just means Monday is job interview, shopping for camping stuff, packing, moving and cleaning. All before 4 pm. No problem. *awkward chuckle*

Sweet Nothings

2004-08-14T18:34:00.000-07:00

Words cannot begin to describe how good it feels to have nothing to do. Well not that I have nothing to do as in, "I am bored," just that there is nothing making demands on my time. I guess a more accurate statement would be, "it feels good not to have anything I HAVE to do." Free to be as lazy, slothful, and indolent as I please.
So how did I spend this newfound independence from industry? I got up and watched someone else work really hard. We saw Jena and Carla finish their half marathon. They ran for two hours! I would die. I am not particularly fond of running, and any activity longer than about twenty minutes is a serious strain on my attention span, so running for two hours straight would be, for me, a particularly painful purgatory. But, different strokes for different folks. Jena and Carla seemed to enjoy it very much. And although I can't really relate to their ecstasy of exercise, seeing them happy makes me happy. Only my happiness didn't require near cardiac arrest.
After the race I came home, took a nap, laid in the sun, and I plan on polishing off this day of unadulterated, uselessness by watching the Olympics while stuffing my face with hamburgers and curly fries (thanks to Jen! *smile*)
Today was truly the kind of summer day dreams are made of. Lazy, lazy dreams!

I wish Rosa would adopt me

2004-08-13T09:33:00.000-07:00

Emily, formally known as Sister Wallace called to tell me she wanted me to interpret her homecoming for Alex and Rosa, who came up to visit from California. I am SO EXCITED to see them again! Alex and Rosa crack me up. Their one of those couples where up front they both try to make it look like Alex is the head of the household, but speaking with the both of them for any length of time makes it quite obvious that it is the more intellectually inclined Rosa who wears the pants in that relationship. And my gosh she can cook. So I plan to go up there on Sunday to interpret (mildly amusing), and then dinner, cooked via Rosa, afterward (divinely delicious).
As the conversation with Emily progressed it became apparent that my old companion had begun pursuing his mission crush on Emily's companion. Emily expressed her disapproval at the thought of any romantic interest in anyone you met during your service as a missionary.
My response:
"Um....... yeah...... dating people from your mission is ......... uh....... awful...... SO weird"
after the awkward, hypocritical concurrence, I quickly changed the subject,
"so about Sunday...."
It will be fun to see Rosa, Alex, and Emily again and even more fun to eat Rosa's food.

A new relationship

2004-08-13T00:36:00.000-07:00

I was talking with Lu Ann tonight and we both agreed to stalk one another. I've never had a stalker before and never been one myself....... Since we both know we're not "dangerous-crazy", just obsessed with each other, having a stalker is quite flattering. I mean sure, it will be creepy the first time I notice a pair of eyes staring at me from behind the window pane as I prepare lunch, or hear the bushes rustle when I think I'm all alone in the hot tub, but I think I'll get used to it. Besides, Lord knows I love attention, so the stalker relationship should fit just right. Plus we can send each other disturbing love notes like "I'm watching you," or "I have a key to your apartment," or "I've been video taping you while you sleep."
should be fun.... smile

The physics behind BOHICA

2004-08-12T23:52:00.000-07:00

I remember when I was in the testing center this afternoon for two hours there were times when things just seemed to come to me, like I was being divinely lead. Ideas and conclusions for the relativity conundrums seemed to generate themselves in my head. Like pure intelligence flowing through me. What a croc of crap! I am sure I was being spiritually lead, but it was obviously not the spirit of truth.
Question:
So........ anyone ever studied for seven hours for a final and then walked out of the testing center with a whooping 56? .......... yeah feels great............ PITY ME!!!!!!!!!! stupid physics
Well I leave the subject with sort of mixed feelings. On one hand I know I will wake up with the biggest smile on my face tomorrow just knowing that I will never have to figure out what direction the magnetic field is oscillating on a polarized beam of light with a wave length of 567 nanometers, but it sucked royal to have to go out all BOHICA style.
Whatever. I am so done with those dorks in the fizix department. I must admit to a bit of anger as I looked at my score on the TV in the testing center. Yes I shook an angry fist, maybe two, and I thought of all sorts of sailor words. So I went home and drowned my feelings of inadequacy in a barrage of Rage Against the Machine, depressing break up songs from Goldfinger, and some anti authority Rancid and NOFX that has laid dormant in my CD collection since my angst ridden high school days. Then I went to the gym until my angry fist was too tired to shake anymore.
But the tempest has been quelled. How is it possible for peace to prevail amidst such academic injustice? Well eating a chimmichunga (sp?) helped. But I think what pushed me over the edge was discovering that this same educational institution that had just humiliated me, was willing to pay me to just sit in a Speedo in front of a room full of people. SWEET! Jen is going to hook me up with her art teacher and see if I can sell my body (they already own my soul) to BYU as an art model. You don't even have to be incredibly good looking, so it might work out! Then we started talking about the Olympics starting tomorrow and how we should have a toga party. Sounds like a plan to me! Party or no, I'm wearing a toga tomorrow. I'll sit in my sheet by myself and eat Snicker's ice cream, just so long as I am wearing a toga... makes me happy. Way happier than physics.

Confuzed

2004-08-11T15:29:00.000-07:00

Physics continues to elude me. I don't understand quarks and I don't get how Leptons become Mesons. And how those are related to Baryons and Hadrons is just beyond me. All these "ons" kind of scare me. I think that is where fear is derived from. Not understanding something. Evidently all these "ons" are all around us, but we can’t see them. They are on our clothes, in our food, everywhere! What are they? Where do they come from? What do they want from me? and how do I answer questions about them on my final tmw?!!?!?!? AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
Actually I think ignorance, to a certain degree might help you be less scared. For example, this weekend I watched "The Ring." What a stupid movie. Well I guess it was me who was stupid, because I had no idea what was going on. I tried to follow, but..... whatever.... I remember there was a part of the movie when everything seemed resolved and I thought it would end, but it kept going, then the plot escalated again and finally ended. I wasn't so much paralyzed with fear as I was sedated in a thick stupor. When it was all over I looked at Sherree and both of us just kind of squinted in a puzzled contorted face as the word "What?" simultaneously left our lips.
I dont know, I’m probably just a moron. or maybe that movie is only to scare the intellectually advanced. A horror flick for physicists only.

I am so toast

2004-07-30T23:51:00.000-07:00

So. ....... we picked her up from the airport today......
yeah......
stick a fork in me 'cause I'm done.

The Fantastic Idiot

2004-07-22T20:36:00.000-07:00

I was on campus the other day....... not that that is unusual, I am on campus for most of my life pretty much every day. At least it feels that way. Anyway, being the intelligent College student I am, I made the following observation:
Upon seeing a man roll by peddling himself in a wheelchair/bike. I thought to myself, why that is so smart! All handicap people should get peddle wheelchairs. Using your feet has got to be way easier than using your hands to propel your wheelchair! ................... I am glad I was alone when I thought this or I might have shared this stupidity with someone else. ........ but I was alone with this anti-genius thought for a good twenty seconds until I realized..................... If the man was strong enough to peddle his wheelchair, than he was, of course, strong enough to walk and did not need the wheelchair in the first place. Putting a paralyzed individual in a peddle wheelchair would only mock, not help them. Still, it might be good for a sadistic joke.

Bloody Golf Balls

2004-07-22T20:33:00.000-07:00

I would just like to begin by declaring Julymas to be the most blessed holiday established since the holy festival known as Halloween. Only in America could something so fantastic be fabricated. Our nation will forever be indebted to the twin genius of Kat and Em. I hear by with all to know that my first born will be named in their honor. He or she will be known as Katem Bailey. Beautiful. I pray he or she will be born on Julymas in order to further glorify Kat and Em’s brilliance.
Now that’s out of my system, it’s show and tell time. And since I really struggle to “show” over the blog........ (although I think I could now that my web cam is up and running (thanks Sherree!)) this will be a more of a “tell” than anything else.
So I have another adventure on the way home from school. But no butt cracks in this one. I was walking past this field when I heard this random, continuous “click, click..... click..... click, click.” So of course I think to myself, “what the heck is that?” I attempted to quench my curiosity, peering down the sidewalk and glancing behind bushes, but to no avail. It was not until I had walked the entire length of the field that I discovered the golf class hitting golf balls over the field which had just previous been directly to my left. I don’t have alot of expertise in the sport of golf, but there are two things I do know from personal experience. One, if you drive your golf cart into the mud and get it stuck, trying to ram it out with your second golf cart will just get both of them stuck. And then your friend gets fired from the golf course and you are forever banished from the “Not-so” Pleasant Valley golf course. Stupid jerks. And Two, when driving golf balls it is not uncommon for even the best golfers to, on occasion, hit the ball in a less than straight trajectory. Being sure this class was intensely dangerous to pedestrians like myself who would unwittingly be walking the sidewalk next to the field, I decided to prove my theory by observing the class for a moment.
Sure enough, within ten seconds a wild ball shot out of control, off the tee, over the fence, and bounced not twenty feet from an oblivious backpacked girl making her way down the sidewalk. As the golf ball bounced behind her I noticed the girl smiling at me. This always makes me feel good so I looked closer, and realized she was smiling because it was Mindy Thibodeau (and yes, I had to look up her last name). I don’t think she would have been smiling as much if she had known how close she had come to a golf ball face implant, but none the less, now I had a walking buddy. We chatted for a while as we walked and had the unusual pleasure of playing the “lava game” from elementary school. You know, the one where you can’t touch the mulch, or in our case the newly poured asphalt. Anywho, after crossing the smoldering , tar covered parking lot I felt an itch on the back of my leg. So I nonchalantly reached down and scratched. Not particularly hard, but then I felt something trickling down my calf. Mindy was saying something, but to be quite honest I was more anxious about what was dripping down my leg than I was enthralled in her story. So again, I covertly reached and touched my leg. Upon bringing my hand up, I found it covered in blood. I don’t know if I opened up a bug bite, or scratched off a scab or what. Maybe I just have the fingernails of a bobcat......I don’t know! I successfully hid my crimson fingers from Mindy and rubbed them together as we crossed the street in a desperate attempt to rid myself of the unsightly stain. It worked! Plus I was able to stay attentive enough to add appropriate responses to the conversation, such as “a-huh,” or “oh yeah,” or “I totally understand.”
When we finally got to the girls apts I wanted to wait for Mindy to go up the stairs first so she wouldn’t see the blood gushing down my leg as I walked away, because at this point explaining the story would have been more than uncomfortable and being caught trying to hid it would have only compounded the embarrassment. But for whatever reason, (I think she is just too polite), she wouldn’t leave! Finally I started to back up the stairs and she said goodbye. The instant she turned, I was off and around the corner practically sprinting to my apartment to wash my wound.
I don’t think Mindy ever caught on...... and if she did she was either too nice or freaked out to say anything. So moral of the story is there is a time and place to scratch your itch and it is possible to bleed profusely and hide it from a girl.

Don't do Crack

2004-07-02T00:55:00.000-07:00

I was walking out of the Talmage building, cold and hungry, after my three hour marathon class. The class ended amusingly enough. The teacher was going to show us some deaf humor and when he put the videotape in, he had stopped it at the wrong place and the comedian was making jokes about breasts. Despite this unusual twist to the conclusion of class, I was more than eager to be done with school for the day.
Anywho, I was walking home and this bike comes zooming across campus and jumps a small grass hill. The velocity of the whole event frightened me at first, I wasn't sure if he was trying to run me over, or was just out of control. The biker's thrill thirsty intentions became quite clear as he majestically sailed over the hill.
Gracefully he soared through the air, his tires spinning and glistening in the setting sun. For a moment it was as if he floated all ET style, but the fanciful flight could not last. The bike clanged to the cement and then something happened that spoiled any amount of dignity or honor gained during the spectacular air display.
His pants fell half way down his butt. I am not sure he noticed at first, because he just took off across campus, turning back again for another approach. It wasn't until he began this second run that he hiked up his shorts and covered his backside.

Why my lefe rocks

2004-07-02T00:24:00.000-07:00

1. I am drinking a Jones Soda (thanks Em ;)
2. I own a Spider-man costume and just ordered corresponding business cards that will be here in exactly 21 days.
3. I just shaved my arms
4. I am about to put on a removable tattoo depicting a dragon fighting a tiger
5. In 24 hours I will be in sunny, sinful California
6. I don't have class until Wednesday
7. I plan on shocking someone with my electric joke pen in the near future
8. I am young enough that my parents are still willing to support me, but old enough that they can't really tell me what to do
9. "Video Killed the Radio Star" just started playing
10. My sunburn is gone, but the smiley face stayed
When I was a kid, this is exactly what I wanted my life to be like. YAHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

Camping, Hobo Style

2004-06-18T10:32:00.000-07:00

So last night I went camping. And by camping I mean I dragged out one of Leah's dirty old mattresses and slept on the sidewalk. John took slumbered in Tina's hammock, Leah stayed in her new tent on about 8 couch cushions and two underwear pillows. Heather and I both slept on mattresses on the sidewalk. I think I got the best night's sleep.
It rained so that should explain why John's night was "suck fest 2004," and although he had a tarp, the fact that he was suspended from the ground meant it was physically impossible for him to retain any heat. Consequently he spent the night, shivering, with a hooded sweatshirt over his face, and his hands in his pockets. Poor kid.
Leah's "pillow palace" was fun until her nocturnal shifting parted the couch cushions like the red sea and she was left contorted on the floor with nothing separating her from the concrete but the thin sheet of polyester fabric that was the floor of the tent. And if that wasn't uncomfortable enough, she insinuated in the morning that she "kept farting," and I can only imagine the horror of hot boxing in your own methane for seven hours.
Heather would have slumbered comfortably if it hadn't been for me. I know most of you think I am perfect (ha ha), but I have this nasty habit of snoring. This was never a problem on my mission (all my comps were deaf), but it seems to bother hearing people. Go figure. Actually, to be quite honest, I hate it when people snore too. Heather said it wasn't the snoring that induced most of her insomnia, but rather the outbursts of laughter. In addition to snoring and talking, I am also prone to laugh in my sleep. This is not unusual for me. I have on several occasions actually laughed so hard in my dreams I wake up. That is the BEST feeling in the world! I love it! I only wish I could remember all my funny dreams. But maybe it is better I can't, because of the ones I can remember, only a fraction of them are as funny when I am a wake as when I am unconscious. The snoring, I am told, was rhythmical and so somewhat tolerable, but the laughter was sporadic and woke up Heather on more than one occasion.
As for me, I slept like a baby. A laughing baby. It was delightful until about 7 AM when the Provo HS drum line started practicing. What a bunch of jerks. Who in their right mind starts drumming at 7 in the morning? On a FRIDAY?!?!? Stupid high school kids. If I had owned a car at that moment and hadn't been too lazy to drive, I would have floored it over to the HS football field and spun donuts through their violence provoking percussion. Initially there probably would be an increase in noise as they screamed in terror, but once the job was done I would have been a neighborhood hero, because it's got to be alot tougher to play when both you and your snare drum are in pieces.
Despite the louder than preferred awakening, I greatly enjoyed our "camp out." And the best part about it was I woke up and instead of having to cook some nasty boy scout breakfast, eating eggs out of a tin can, and smelling like smoke and BO, I went home showered and ate at IHOP with my buds.

I am a yellow idiot

2004-06-16T16:00:00.000-07:00

So I took that color test from Kayla, and evidently I am a SOLID yellow. The scores were pretty indicative, but after reading the personality description, I am nothin' but gold.
You would think that yellow would be a good color, and in some respects it is, but not always.
I am pleasure oriented (not that you really needed a test to figure that out)
but am easily bored. Actually as Kayla was reading the personality description, I was thinking to myself, "this is pretty boring," and then she read that line about yellow's short attention span. I felt innerly sheepish.
I found that most of my goals are to become a little more blue so maybe someday I will end up green.
I don't know how accurate those tests are. I mean, it pegged me pretty good, but I think that would change depending on when I took the test and what mood I was in.
One thing the test failed to reveal is my intellectual shortcomings, but that was made very apparent yesterday when I went on blackboard to check out my grades, so I would know how hard I had to study to get the grades I wanted in my classes. Heaven forbid I just study as hard as I can.
Anywho, I went on the New Testament portion and found something entitled "quiz" with the subtitle "final." Naively thinking this to be some sort of practice quiz for the final I opened the link. My eyes widened in horror as I read the intro "YOU NOW HAVE ONE HOUR TO COMPLETE THE FINAL EXAM" AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
I closed that window faster than a porno pop-up, and in a few nervous clicks, logged off the system completely.
I didn't read any of the questions and was on the "exam" for maybe 3 to 5 seconds, but that was enough for that dilhole computer program to count me as having taken the final.
If I am not mistaken, the final counts as about 40% of our grade, so I really forked myself in the eye this time. I called my teacher three times and sent him just as many emails. No response.
Just makes me wish I was more flexible at the knee joint so I could kick myself in the nuts. Horary for FINALS and all the glory attendant to it. I have always had mixed feelings about finals. Like jumping off a tall building. Any ecstasy felt in the rush of flying through the air is more than nullified when your body hits the pavement like a hefty bag filled with tomato soup. Any joy derived from finishing the semester is swallowed up in the experiences like completing your final in 5 seconds and being rewarded with a BIG FAT ZERO.
So glad I worked hard in that class. I could have gotten the same grade by sitting at home and playing Dr. Mario til my brains melted out my nose. And very frankly, that would have been a lot more fun.

I Almost Died

2004-06-13T14:56:00.000-07:00

So this weekend was filled with fun. Nicklecade, the soccer championship, oh yeah, and yesterday when I almost fell fifty feet to my demise.
That was great.
Actually I did rather enjoy it. I didn't like it when I was hanging onto a shrub off a cliff with sharp rocks at the bottom, like a cliche cartoon character, but I did feel pretty hardcore when it was all over. So now I am sure you’re asking yourself, "self, what kind of crazy adventure has Chris gotten himself into this time?"
Well "self" probably won't be able to tell you, unless that "self" is Kat, Rach, or Jon, but I can tell you. Let me explain.
The whole endeavor started innocently enough. Four kids out hiking to a beautiful waterfall to munch on tooth picks in their chicken wraps and suck on "mountain coolers." Well, this hike went from happy to hellish when I asked if anyone wanted to climb to the top of Stewart Falls with me. Rach volunteered, and so, unwittingly, we both set out to begin our near death experiences.
We followed a path and then started climbing the cliff. The cliff was made of limestone, so, when we got too far to turn back, everything I was grabbing onto was coming loose and descending on Rach in a shower of dirt. I told her to turn back while she could, but that I was too far up to come back down and would try to find a way over the top.
I scrambled up to the top, inadvertently cascading rock and dust onto a clinging Rach.
Jon was charitable enough to help Rach down, but I was screwed royal. After catching my breath, I turned to find that there was no trail at the top of this cliff. Only bushes and shrub as far as the eye could see. Which was about two feet because there were so many bushes. I made my way along the steep incline, anchoring myself by pulling up on the brush. I was lucky none of them came loose, or...... I would have plummeted to my doom. At first I was worried I might meet some wild animal or Indian up in this wilderness, but then it occurred to me that the climb up to this point was so arduous that no animal or Indian would even want to live here.
That fear successfully quelled, I scaled my way to a large over hang. The water had gotten under this huge rock, frozen and broken large sheets of limestone onto the floor. Upon examining these sheets I found several fossils and put some into my pocket to show to Kat, Rach, and Jon if I ever made it back to civilization again. They better have been impressed, because those freakin' rocks dug into the tender flesh of my leg on more than one occasion.
After more climbing I finally made my way to the top of the falls, where I assumed the water would flow in a nice trickle just like it was at the bottom of the falls. This assumption was entirely false. The water at the top of the falls flowed over the edge of the cliff by passing through a large gorge. Just exactly what I had hoped wouldn't be the case!
At this point I got nervous. I felt like I was going to die on that God forsaken cliff. Being so nervous made me really have to go to the bathroom. Plus I was sorta mad at the falls for being so hard to cross. Especially when I came up here for the express purpose of appreciating nature's beauty, and all I got from nature was sticks in my eyes and sharp jagged rocks in my legs. So I did the only natural thing. I resolved the issue of a full bladder and my distain for the falls by doing this "natural thing" in a glorious, yellow, fifteen-foot arch over the top of Stewart Falls. Was this surprising to those who were perhaps standing in the falling water bellow? Oh yes, I am sure they were disgusted. I know I would be if I went to cool my body in pure, fresh, glacier water and was unknowingly defiled with urine pouring on my head. But at this point I wasn't really thinking of others, only myself, because I had been stuck on that stupid cliff for over half an hour.
I made my treacherous climb farther up the falls and found a convenient log on which to jump the falls, and then began the decent on the other side of the falls. This meant more trail blazing down the steep incline.
After some sweat, and a few prayers I found myself in a dried brook bed filled with sharp loose rocks.
All I could think of while standing on the rocks was this foreign flick I saw with my grandparents called, "Touching the Void," about these mountain climbers in the Andean mountains. One of them breaks his leg at the top and after rolling/climbing/falling threw a glacier, ends up, three days later, crawling in the dark back to the camp via the camp latrine. I just knew that would happen to me. So I decided to start thinking positive. I imagined myself as Spiderman. Belly down and butt first, I slid down the loose rock for a good 70 feet until finally ending up at the bottom of the falls, only on the opposite side of where I began.
I shock an angry fist at the crashing water (now mixed with my pee), and chuckled as I observed some boys playing in the contaminated glacier water. Ha ha.
So after an hour of dangerous trek I reunited with my buds and we walked back to the cars.
I gave some flowers to Kat, hopping she would be impressed that I had climbed up the falls to get them. But in reality, she probably realized that the exact same flowers could be found at the bottom of the falls, and my trip up the falls was less a result of my desire to impress her, and more inspired by my limitless stupidity. I just hope she didn't drink any of the water from the falls. That would be a real disaster...... smile.....
So anywho, that is my weekend escapade. Scuffed legs, a brush with death, and urinating on vacationers. Just an average date with Chris Bailey.

I'm Not Gay, I Promise

2004-05-19T19:24:00.000-07:00

I hope this isn't to disconcerting for my roommates. Please don't take this the wrong way but,........ I really like the gang showers at the BYU gym. It's not the company, in fact I am usually the only one using the showers, but the power in the showerhead that provides such a superior cleansing. It works like this.....
This is a little trick some guy showed me in my beginning basketball class that I took my freshman year. There is a shower tower in the locker rooms that, when manipulated correctly, produces two shower heads with intersecting streams. This means twice the power and a separate showerhead for each shoulder.
This being too perfect, there is a down side. The obvious negative of the whole experience is that it is still a gang shower. So you have an audience. However, for me, years of sports and being manhandled by doctors at physicals have left with me a dulled sense of shame in the nude. So the semipublic nakedness doesn't really bother me in the first place, and even if there is a longer than appropriate gander at my unmentionables, they're probably just jealous. (opps! was that out loud?!) I mean.. uh.... yeah.....
Anyway, if you ever get the chance, the shower tower second from the right, closest to the wall, in the left gang shower, in the locker room at the RB is to die for, even if weirdoes are staring at you.

hmmmm...... looks like fun

2004-05-13T22:52:00.000-07:00

I am converting from LJ, ...... I am told this is far superior..... we will see. This should be fun!