I've been having an annoying problem with my phone for about two years now (it may be longer, but I'm old and can't remember). You pick up the receiver to make a call and the line's dead. There have been variations on this as sometimes it's dead for a couple of seconds and then there's an obnoxiously loud busy signal. None the less, it's dead. Since I live out in BFE, where there's no cell service, I have to drive many, many, miles to make a call (Okay, it's not that many miles, but when you're already pissed off, it seems like it is). Always, by the time the repair person gets out to the house, the phone has started working again.
In the past say,two years, (it may be longer, but I'm old and can't remember) we have purchased at least 3 new cordless phone/answering systems. Why? Because I was told by various phone company persons that my phone could be causing the problem (even though the line is dead at the incoming telephone pole). In fact I was told any of our appliances could be causing the problem. Since we're not independently wealthy, when the problems started, we didn't rush out and by all new appliances, electronic equipment ,TV, computer, etc., nor did we have our house re-wired to make sure everything was good. Since we built the house, and it passed all the building codes, and is about ten years old, we're hoping the wiring is still okay (knock on wood). I'm being facetious but I can feel the agitation level in my body starting to rise just thinking about this.
We have, since the "phone nightmare" began, been fortunate enough to get a new refrigerator, stove, and washer /dryer. The washer and dryer are the front loader kind and I LOVE them...and they're red! Which is really unlike me cause I'm sort of bland. So by now, almost everything is relatively new. Guess what???? We still have the "phone nightmare"!
Yesterday, I came home from work, looking forward to the weekend. I work Monday-Thursday so I have Friday, Saturday, & Sunday off...love it.. Anyway, I'm all fat, dumb, and happy and I go to make a phone call...dum de dum dum...dead line this time with the obnoxiously loud busy signal.
Now, it's been less than a month since the repairman was out (it may be longer, but I'm old and can't remember). I was seriously hoping that this time it was fixed. I also seriously think I'm going to win the Lottery. I should seriously quit thinking.
Anyway, the last time, after waiting all day on a Friday for the repairman, because the phone company, AT&T couldn't be more specific than between 8 am and 8 pm for an appointment time,no repairman arrived. As usual, the phone was working by the appointment date but there was a loud hum on the line so I didn't cancel the appointment and waited to see if it could be fixed. Mind you I called on the previous Sunday but since some of us actually work for a living had to wait until my day off to sit at home for twelve hours.
I finally called the phone company around 2'ish on my still humming phone to see if they could be a little more specific about when the repairman would arrive. The ever polite customer service woman said that my line had been fixed on Monday, the repair ticket had been cancelled, and nobody was coming to my house. My blood is beginning to boil...I've been waiting all day. I asked her if she could hear the hum on the phone? Why yes, she could. She said she would make another appointment for me on Wednesday.That was the soonest they had a four hour block of time so I wouldn't have to waste a whole day of vacation time. I was polite. However, I did express my displeasure at the fact that no one told me my phone was repaired. Which it wasn't... as evidenced by the annoying hum... and I totally wasted my day off waiting for someone who was never going to show up. If the phone was working so fucking good, why didn't they leave a message on the answering machine, I said to myself? I did not swear at her. She was very nice and apologetic...she must have sensed I was about to snap...women are intuitive about that kind of thing.
The following Wednesday I come home at noon, repairman shows up. Does some mysterious phone repair work, and fixes the hum. Hooray. I actually believed it was fixed. These guys, the phone gods, who are all really nice by the way, say things like "yeah, I switched your line; yeah, I rerouted you; yeah, there was trouble on the line" which mean absolutely nothing to mere mortals. I was grateful for his help and thanked him profusely.
AT&T has an "online repair service" to "expedite" repairs. I know this because over a year ago (it may be longer, but I'm old and can't remember), I went through their lengthy un-user friendly "online repair service" to create an online account in order to use this expeditious "online repair service". Anyway, I got the online account created. It's important at this time to note that this account was created before the purchase of a new computer and satellite system service (which is still painfully slow and unreliable, but that's another story).
Fast forward to yesterday.
I go to the AT&T website, select "repair", and am taken to the first part of the "online repair service" where you are instructed to go to the outside pole, to check and see if your phone line is dead there. Now, I know I'm old and have no memory, but I don't remember my parents ever having to do this. And I think, actually I know, I pay more for service than they ever did. Having done this before, I'm able to breeze through this part, since I've already checked this. Next, I'm asked if I have an online account? Click yes. Knowing full well that clicking "no" will mean I have to open a new account. Then I try to log on to my account. Here is where my lack of memory becomes the enemy. I have to admit, sometimes I use this to my advantage. Not this time. I can't remember the log on. But not to worry, there's a helpful little line "forgot user name/password". I click on and it asks me to choose which I can't remember. Since I'm pretty sure I know the password, I click on "forgot user name". It asks me to enter my email address, which I do, so they can send me my user name.
I enter my email address and immediately get an ugly response in bold red lettering that says the email address I entered is not associated with my account. I realize, belatedly, that when I used this before, I had a different computer, satellite service, and email account. I try a couple of times, guessing, at different user names. No luck.
So okay, I have to open a new account. Annoying, but do-able. I start over. Go back to the home page and make the appropriate "repair" selections, get to the part where it asks if I have an account and click the "no" tab so I can create a new account. It asks me to enter my phone number and when I do, I get a response that there is already an account for this number. Now I'm stuck, the website won't let me open a new account. They give another option that said I could email for service. Okay, fine, I click on that line...now I'm at a list of choices and about half way down is "repair". I click on repair, naively thinking I'm going to get an email box allowing me to send my repair request through their email system. Guess where it takes me??? Back to the original "online repair service". I'm embarrassed to admit I actually did this twice since I couldn't believe it was really happening. Talk about Catch 22. I can't log on to the original account, admittedly due to my lack of memory, can't create a new account since apparently it violates some random AT&T rule that you can't have two accounts, and can't change my email address with them because I can't log on. I've become trapped in the fucking Twilight Zone.
I email a friend, Scari, hoping she'll get the message, asking her to call repair for me. I wait for a response, no reply, check again, no reply. Hours pass, I know in my heart it's only a few minutes but it seems like hours. This particular friend spends mucho time doing the Facebook thing so I know she's on the computer a lot. Not when I need her, of course, but any other time she'd be online. So I hop in the car and head down to the store where there's cell service.
Now I'm sitting in the store parking lot, fuming, going through the AT&T repair auto attendant choices, look in my rear view mirror and see Scari leaving the liquor store and getting into her car. She backs out, I'm honking my horn, drives ten feet behind me, I'm still honking, she's oblivious, I start to drive behind her, afraid at any moment I'm going to loose cell service. Finally I get to the end of the auto attendant options which means selecting a repair date 7, count em, 7 days from today because the most specific appointment time AT&T can make is a twelve hour period. I hang up and start following Scari, she's old like me, and totally oblivious to my presence. I finally catch her at her mailbox. She tells me she got my email and called repair, actually spoke to a "real" person. They told her it would be fixed between Friday and Monday. I was shocked she talked to a person. M tells me if you press "0" during the beginning you get a live body and not a recording. I must remember this for future reference. Why isn't that an auto attendant option? Press "0" to talk to a person? It's like the secret In N Out menu. If no one ever told me about that I'd never have known about "animal style" burgers.
So maybe my phone will be repaired this weekend. Probably not. In any case, I'm not cancelling my appointment for next Friday until I know for sure. I can say for sure that AT&T phone service sucks big time. And their online repair service is definitely the stoopidist thing.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Road Rage
I have a little road rage problem. When I sit my fat butt in the driver's seat and put my hands on the steering wheel, I instantly become an impatient, immature, asshole. On a side note here, I think "asshole" is the most politically correct slur to use on any given occasion should you feel the need to be politically correct which even I, at times, am forced to do. You can even preface it with "effing" and it's still gender neutral, racially neutral, politically neutral and since I am certain that every faith in the world has their fair share of assholes as members it is religiously neutral as well. If you preface it with the "eff" word, though, be prepared to be on the receiving end of many a raised eyebrow. Happens to me all the time.
Anyway, for some unknown reason, as soon as I get in the car, I'm in a hurry. When I get in the car my main goal is to get from Point A to Point B in the shortest amount of time. My son would argue this because he says I take the long way everywhere. It's my opinion while that may be true, I'm avoiding stop lights, stop signs, and heavily trafficked areas so even though I may be traveling a longer distance I get there quicker. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it. Not only do I hate being politically correct, I hate waiting.
So here's the way it goes. I start out fat, dumb, and happy, going to the store for ice cream (which I'm convinced is the most wonderful food on the planet), which is on my shopping list, which is sitting on the table where I wrote it, which is what I do every effing time I go grocery shopping. Unknowingly list-less, I get in the car and head out. I always try to get these chores done either in the morning or evening. Why? So I don't have to deal with traffic, lines at the store, or any of the gazillion things that easily annoy me. Since I live in a fairly rural area, there's not a lot of traffic starting out. Occasionally you get behind a cement truck or some other slow moving equipment hauling apparatus but I can usually make pretty snappy time en route to the "main" road. Here I confess yet another of my many, many, many faults...I drive too fast everywhere (except when I'm hauling horses and/or someone else's kids).
Now after five or six miles of blissful rage free travel, I'm at the "main" road and my first of many potential annoyances. A stop sign where I'm forced to make the dreaded "left had turn into oncoming traffic". I know this is truly stoopid but I have, on occasion, planned my daily stops around right hand turns in order to avoid the dreaded "left hand turn into oncoming traffic". I know, I can't help it.
You see, I don't judge distance well. It's another little "problem" of mine. So I know I incur the wrath of many a poor schmuck whose misfortune it is to be stuck behind me at stop signs while waiting a seeming eternity for me to make the dreaded "left hand turn into oncoming traffic". I know this because I can see them in my rear view mirror throwing their hands up off their steering wheel mouthing "Jeez lady, WTF are you waiting for?" Fellow schmucks of the world, I apologize. We are kindred spirits.
"Mouthing" is that thing you do when you're in the car and want to talk to another driver knowing there's not a chance in hell they can hear you but you still feel the need to communicate. I use "mouthing" frequently. Usually to mouth the words "I'm sorry" after making the dreaded "left hand turn into oncoming traffic", misjudging the distance, and forcing the guy in the blue Dodge Ram pickup to slam on his brakes and lay long black skid marks on the road in order to avoid t-boning me. I also try to accompany this "mouthing" with an appropriately sheepish look. Sort of, my bad, I know. It is, after all, the polite thing to do.
Next on my journey is another left hand turn, however this one is from a designated left hand turn lane so I only need to worry about traffic coming one way, hence, this is different from the dreaded turn. As fate would allow, now I'm the schmuck mouthing obscenities, stuck behind a little old lady in a beige Cadillac who is waiting patiently, hands on the wheel at ten and two, for the oncoming car that is CLEARLY two miles down the road. Another kindred spirit of sorts, this blue headed, pin curled, old lady (whom I would resemble without the constant attention of Crazy D, my hairdresser), but it's only in the recalling that I notice this. At the time I'm Impatient Patty because, dammit, I'm driving and I'm in a hurry. And it is all about me.Finally after years of waiting, she goes. About fucking time, lady (I mouth)...I don't think she noticed.
On my way again and clear sailing. One more left hand turn at where I'm delighted to be the only soul on the road and I now have a straight shot of roadway punctuated by a couple of stop lights, which have their place in my love/hate catalog of traffic annoyances, followed by the always welcomed right hand turns.
Say what you will but I love Walmart. They're cheaper than anywhere else and they always have an entertaining, albeit annoying at times, group of customers and employees. I get what I need and go.
Now I'm at a stop light to make a right hand turn. The light is red but I can still turn right as soon as Mr. Crappy Brown Ford P/U gets through the intersection. Oh, nice one Mr. Crappy Brown Ford P/U, no turn signal to let me know that you weren't going through the intersection but planned all along to turn right...I waited for nothing. Now I'm stuck, thanks to you, you moron, waiting for everyone across the intersection to take advantage of their now green left turn only light. In truth, my exact words were, "nice blinker you fucking moron". Which is actually pretty mild...for me.
Onward I travel. The next stop is blissfully uneventful. I get my groceries and head home. Now I'm on a mission. Since I now have ice cream it's full steam ahead, lest the ice cream start to thaw. If you're a true ice cream lover, that is the last thing you put in your cart before checkout. Partial thawing and re-freezing results in those horrible ice crystals. Take heart though, should find yourself stuck with crystallized ice cream, you can still use it to make milkshakes.
All in all, not a bad start to the day. There was one lady in a white Toyota who pulled out in front of me causing me to slam on my brakes, but since I didn't have an open soda at my lips ready to take a swig, there wasn't much drama. But the real reason I didn't get upset is because she had the common courtesy to mouth "I'm sorry" and look sheepish, to which I mouthed "It's okay" and waived.
Now, while I'm aware that my behavior is totally ridiculous, I kind of don't really care because I'm in the privacy of my own vehicle. I don't shout out the windows or make rude hand gestures of the middle finger variety, so for all anyone really knows, I'm just singing along with the radio. I may be turning the air blue inside my car with my verbal assaults on unsuspecting motorists but NOBODY KNOWS BUT ME. Okay, I'm probably offending God, but I bet He understands. It's the stoopidist thing...
Anyway, for some unknown reason, as soon as I get in the car, I'm in a hurry. When I get in the car my main goal is to get from Point A to Point B in the shortest amount of time. My son would argue this because he says I take the long way everywhere. It's my opinion while that may be true, I'm avoiding stop lights, stop signs, and heavily trafficked areas so even though I may be traveling a longer distance I get there quicker. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it. Not only do I hate being politically correct, I hate waiting.
So here's the way it goes. I start out fat, dumb, and happy, going to the store for ice cream (which I'm convinced is the most wonderful food on the planet), which is on my shopping list, which is sitting on the table where I wrote it, which is what I do every effing time I go grocery shopping. Unknowingly list-less, I get in the car and head out. I always try to get these chores done either in the morning or evening. Why? So I don't have to deal with traffic, lines at the store, or any of the gazillion things that easily annoy me. Since I live in a fairly rural area, there's not a lot of traffic starting out. Occasionally you get behind a cement truck or some other slow moving equipment hauling apparatus but I can usually make pretty snappy time en route to the "main" road. Here I confess yet another of my many, many, many faults...I drive too fast everywhere (except when I'm hauling horses and/or someone else's kids).
Now after five or six miles of blissful rage free travel, I'm at the "main" road and my first of many potential annoyances. A stop sign where I'm forced to make the dreaded "left had turn into oncoming traffic". I know this is truly stoopid but I have, on occasion, planned my daily stops around right hand turns in order to avoid the dreaded "left hand turn into oncoming traffic". I know, I can't help it.
You see, I don't judge distance well. It's another little "problem" of mine. So I know I incur the wrath of many a poor schmuck whose misfortune it is to be stuck behind me at stop signs while waiting a seeming eternity for me to make the dreaded "left hand turn into oncoming traffic". I know this because I can see them in my rear view mirror throwing their hands up off their steering wheel mouthing "Jeez lady, WTF are you waiting for?" Fellow schmucks of the world, I apologize. We are kindred spirits.
"Mouthing" is that thing you do when you're in the car and want to talk to another driver knowing there's not a chance in hell they can hear you but you still feel the need to communicate. I use "mouthing" frequently. Usually to mouth the words "I'm sorry" after making the dreaded "left hand turn into oncoming traffic", misjudging the distance, and forcing the guy in the blue Dodge Ram pickup to slam on his brakes and lay long black skid marks on the road in order to avoid t-boning me. I also try to accompany this "mouthing" with an appropriately sheepish look. Sort of, my bad, I know. It is, after all, the polite thing to do.
Next on my journey is another left hand turn, however this one is from a designated left hand turn lane so I only need to worry about traffic coming one way, hence, this is different from the dreaded turn. As fate would allow, now I'm the schmuck mouthing obscenities, stuck behind a little old lady in a beige Cadillac who is waiting patiently, hands on the wheel at ten and two, for the oncoming car that is CLEARLY two miles down the road. Another kindred spirit of sorts, this blue headed, pin curled, old lady (whom I would resemble without the constant attention of Crazy D, my hairdresser), but it's only in the recalling that I notice this. At the time I'm Impatient Patty because, dammit, I'm driving and I'm in a hurry. And it is all about me.Finally after years of waiting, she goes. About fucking time, lady (I mouth)...I don't think she noticed.
On my way again and clear sailing. One more left hand turn at where I'm delighted to be the only soul on the road and I now have a straight shot of roadway punctuated by a couple of stop lights, which have their place in my love/hate catalog of traffic annoyances, followed by the always welcomed right hand turns.
Say what you will but I love Walmart. They're cheaper than anywhere else and they always have an entertaining, albeit annoying at times, group of customers and employees. I get what I need and go.
Now I'm at a stop light to make a right hand turn. The light is red but I can still turn right as soon as Mr. Crappy Brown Ford P/U gets through the intersection. Oh, nice one Mr. Crappy Brown Ford P/U, no turn signal to let me know that you weren't going through the intersection but planned all along to turn right...I waited for nothing. Now I'm stuck, thanks to you, you moron, waiting for everyone across the intersection to take advantage of their now green left turn only light. In truth, my exact words were, "nice blinker you fucking moron". Which is actually pretty mild...for me.
Onward I travel. The next stop is blissfully uneventful. I get my groceries and head home. Now I'm on a mission. Since I now have ice cream it's full steam ahead, lest the ice cream start to thaw. If you're a true ice cream lover, that is the last thing you put in your cart before checkout. Partial thawing and re-freezing results in those horrible ice crystals. Take heart though, should find yourself stuck with crystallized ice cream, you can still use it to make milkshakes.
All in all, not a bad start to the day. There was one lady in a white Toyota who pulled out in front of me causing me to slam on my brakes, but since I didn't have an open soda at my lips ready to take a swig, there wasn't much drama. But the real reason I didn't get upset is because she had the common courtesy to mouth "I'm sorry" and look sheepish, to which I mouthed "It's okay" and waived.
Now, while I'm aware that my behavior is totally ridiculous, I kind of don't really care because I'm in the privacy of my own vehicle. I don't shout out the windows or make rude hand gestures of the middle finger variety, so for all anyone really knows, I'm just singing along with the radio. I may be turning the air blue inside my car with my verbal assaults on unsuspecting motorists but NOBODY KNOWS BUT ME. Okay, I'm probably offending God, but I bet He understands. It's the stoopidist thing...
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Bathroom Complaints
I work in a large local government building with over a hundred other women. The bathroom for the area I work has five, count 'em, five regular stalls and one large stall equipped for the handicapped. Let me correct myself..I mean physically challenged. Never say handicapped because it'll get you in big trouble with the higher ups. These are the days of political correctness you know. I hate being forced to be politically correct.
This particular bathroom is a "fragrance free" area. Yes, thanks to the delicate sensiblities of one or two the entire department is forced to use facilities that reek of human waste. For them eau de feces is apparently preferable to a spritz of Glade. I will never understand this. As an added bonus the designers of this "environmentally correct" building, in their infinite wisdom, installed low flow toilets. I'm fairly certain that someone with a penis is responsible for this design. Two of the toilets have to be flushed at least ten times to get toilet paper to disappear down the drain. How is that environmentally friendly????? How does that save water??? You learn quickly which stalls are the "good flushers".
So one bright sunny morning I have to pee. Now that I'm old I feel obligated to attempt to be healthy so I'm drinking more water. That's a whole other story though. Anyway I head straight for the handicapped stall (oh shi$..I said it again) because it's roomier and seems more private and my elbows don't hit the wall. It's also a consistantly good flusher. So anyway, I make my way to my favorite stall, walk in, shut the door, and OMG there's SKID MARKS IN THE TOILET.
Now I'm in a quandary. There's other people in here. Do I turn around and leave? If I do that, I know that there's gonna be someone who sees me leave and they're gonna walk directly to the stall I just left and now for the rest of their life, this person's gonna think I'm the leaver of skid marks. Do you see my predicament?
By now my bladder is screaming so I can't wait any longer. I flush the toilet to make sure it's not been plugged by the previous pooper. It flushes fine (it's the good flusher, remember)but the skid marks remain glued to the porcelain. How is that possible? So I place the requisite sanitary shield over the seat, because my mother told me that there are lots of terrible things you can get from sitting on an uncovered toilet seat, and am finally able to pee.
Yet another quandary self created because now I've placed myself in the position of being a double flusher. And everybody knows that nobody double flushes unless they've pooped. I'm starting to get all sweaty and silently pray the skid marks will be gone with this third flushing (I'm counting the original flush by the previous pooper). Either the answer was no or I'm just unlucky. Skid marks are still there. At this point I'm actually kind of amazed by this. I decide to behave like a mature adult. I mean, this isn't high school. So what do I do?? I wait until everyone has left the bathroom before I leave. It seemed like hours but I'm sure it was just a few minutes. Why do I care about this??? What's wrong with me???
I don't think men care about stuff like this. Men, for the most part, don't worry about sweat marks under their arms and I don't think there's many who would let themselves endure significant cramping just to avoid farting. I've actually seen men boldly take reading material into an office bathroom. Never have I seen a woman do this.
Most of the woman I know consider pooping an at home duty and most would rather do anything than poop in public bathrooms. Inevitably, it's going to happen. What do we do? We "sneak a poop". Sad but true. You can always tell the sneak a poopers (I know whereof I speak). Sitting silently. Waiting patiently for the other occupants to either leave them in peace or at least start flushing to cover up the noise they're afraid they're going to make. If you happen to notice a sneak a pooper in the bathroom, make it snappy and leave them in peace. Most women, myself included, are really ridiculous about bodily functions.
Wouldn't it be great to be able to laugh about it? We did when we were kids. I'm obviously never going to outgrow the immaturity of thinking farts are funny. But never in a million years, in a public bathroom, would I laugh out loud, thereby letting the fart emitter know she had been heard. I really want to though.
It's the stoopidist thing.
This particular bathroom is a "fragrance free" area. Yes, thanks to the delicate sensiblities of one or two the entire department is forced to use facilities that reek of human waste. For them eau de feces is apparently preferable to a spritz of Glade. I will never understand this. As an added bonus the designers of this "environmentally correct" building, in their infinite wisdom, installed low flow toilets. I'm fairly certain that someone with a penis is responsible for this design. Two of the toilets have to be flushed at least ten times to get toilet paper to disappear down the drain. How is that environmentally friendly????? How does that save water??? You learn quickly which stalls are the "good flushers".
So one bright sunny morning I have to pee. Now that I'm old I feel obligated to attempt to be healthy so I'm drinking more water. That's a whole other story though. Anyway I head straight for the handicapped stall (oh shi$..I said it again) because it's roomier and seems more private and my elbows don't hit the wall. It's also a consistantly good flusher. So anyway, I make my way to my favorite stall, walk in, shut the door, and OMG there's SKID MARKS IN THE TOILET.
Now I'm in a quandary. There's other people in here. Do I turn around and leave? If I do that, I know that there's gonna be someone who sees me leave and they're gonna walk directly to the stall I just left and now for the rest of their life, this person's gonna think I'm the leaver of skid marks. Do you see my predicament?
By now my bladder is screaming so I can't wait any longer. I flush the toilet to make sure it's not been plugged by the previous pooper. It flushes fine (it's the good flusher, remember)but the skid marks remain glued to the porcelain. How is that possible? So I place the requisite sanitary shield over the seat, because my mother told me that there are lots of terrible things you can get from sitting on an uncovered toilet seat, and am finally able to pee.
Yet another quandary self created because now I've placed myself in the position of being a double flusher. And everybody knows that nobody double flushes unless they've pooped. I'm starting to get all sweaty and silently pray the skid marks will be gone with this third flushing (I'm counting the original flush by the previous pooper). Either the answer was no or I'm just unlucky. Skid marks are still there. At this point I'm actually kind of amazed by this. I decide to behave like a mature adult. I mean, this isn't high school. So what do I do?? I wait until everyone has left the bathroom before I leave. It seemed like hours but I'm sure it was just a few minutes. Why do I care about this??? What's wrong with me???
I don't think men care about stuff like this. Men, for the most part, don't worry about sweat marks under their arms and I don't think there's many who would let themselves endure significant cramping just to avoid farting. I've actually seen men boldly take reading material into an office bathroom. Never have I seen a woman do this.
Most of the woman I know consider pooping an at home duty and most would rather do anything than poop in public bathrooms. Inevitably, it's going to happen. What do we do? We "sneak a poop". Sad but true. You can always tell the sneak a poopers (I know whereof I speak). Sitting silently. Waiting patiently for the other occupants to either leave them in peace or at least start flushing to cover up the noise they're afraid they're going to make. If you happen to notice a sneak a pooper in the bathroom, make it snappy and leave them in peace. Most women, myself included, are really ridiculous about bodily functions.
Wouldn't it be great to be able to laugh about it? We did when we were kids. I'm obviously never going to outgrow the immaturity of thinking farts are funny. But never in a million years, in a public bathroom, would I laugh out loud, thereby letting the fart emitter know she had been heard. I really want to though.
It's the stoopidist thing.
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