Where the Hell Was I? blog: Original humor & comedy articles daily weblog

My So-Blogged Life

You can be a fly on my wall if you want, but you'll have to take a number

Well, here we are again, eh? I've decided that given my ever-advancing age, I should make a concession to my olditude and conform to something. (You know, other than allowing my ass to conform to the seat of my office chair. Nobody really needs to know about that. Though, of course, now you know about it. Funny how blogs work sometimes, isn't it, kids?)

Anyway, I'm not normally one to do the 'vogue' thing, or follow the latest 'chic' trend, and not just because you have to make a funny face to say either of those words. Nor is it because most of those trends involve skimpy clothing, and my ass would probably have a hard-time fitting into the low-riders all the kiddies are wearing these days. (Man, what's up with me today? Read my ass blog! Extra, extra -- see me write about my ass. It's all ass, all the time!)

But moving away from my ass -- slowly, gingerly, so as not to startle it -- I don't normally do the 'in' thing. First of all, by the time I hear about it, it's no longer in.

(Hell, look at me now -- blogs are so 1999.)

And anyway, I usually can't be bothered. For one thing, I was born with this inherent, crippling, recurrent laziness, which makes it sometimes very difficult to get off my ass and join the herd.

(Sorry, there's my ass again. Last time. I promise.)

And for another, the herd are often collectively morons. Look, if I have to wear my clothes so that six inches of underwear peek out the top of my pants, I'm just gonna pass, okay? Maybe it's just me, but when you reach the point when it doesn't really friggin' matter whether your fly is open, because the flap on your boxers is peekin' out above your belt anyway, then you've got some serious thinking to do, and not just about your fashion sense. I'd appreciate it if you'd also take a quick look around your life, and find some way to ensure that you don't pollute the gene pool with your seed, okay? We don't serve your kind around here, dude.

(Hey, speaking of flies, and the checking thereof, is it so hard for people to figure out how to discreetly check whether their zippers are still flying high? Sure, it's not the most heinous faux pas in the world to finger your fly in public, or to stare down at your crotch as though Mr. (or Mrs.) Happy is going to start performing tricks. But it's not pretty, either, and more to the point, it's not necessary.

Look, most people seem to want to be furtive about it, and come up with these wild, hare-brained schemes to 'secretly' double-check the barn door, but they all fall into the We Know What You're Really Doing, Buttmunch category. Yes, I'm talking to you, dude, when you 'miss' your pocket with your hand and just 'happen' to brush your zipper on the way by. And you, young lady, when you pluck invisible, non-existent 'lint' from the bottom of your blouse, so you can sneak a peek at your pants. And you old folks who 'smooth the pleats' in your pants, but start the process at your crotch (where there are no pleats, and frankly, probably little else at this point). Will you people never learn? Have you no sneaking skills? Who raised you, anyway?

Look, there's only one time-tested way to check your fly, folks, and if it means that I don't have to watch these people play their slappy-hands, don't-look-straight-at-it, pretend-you're-staring-into-your-navel games any more, then I'll tell you the secret. But just think about it for a minute, would you? When is the only time, in public, when you're natually staring downward, and no questions will be asked? Hmm? Anyone? That's right, when you're tying a shoe. You can bend down to one knee, pull the shoe of 'interest' right underneath you, and steal a glance at your zipperoo unnoticed. Your shoe doesn't even have to be untied; people have 'loose' shoelaces all the time, and they look the same as 'tight' laces, so nobody's going to give it the first thought.

Plus, you may even get a chance to zip up if you do find you have a 'Code Red' down there, because nobody actually watches other people tie their shoes. It's like looking at strangers in the elevator; it's just not done. Think about it -- the last time the person you were with had to tie their shoe, what did you do? Well, you talked to your other friends, if any were around, or you stared off into space. There's something creepy about talking to someone -- or even looking at them -- when they're hunched down there at thigh level like that. People are going to look anywhere else but at you while you're 'tying your shoe', so you have a couple of seconds to reseal your deal, so to speak, if you find a problem while you're down there. It's the perfect solution.

So that's the only time when it's safe to sneak a peekerino at the old pants to see whether your elevator's still in the penthouse, or whether it's shimmied down to the basement. The only time. Got it? Otherwise, you just look like you're trying to frisk yourself, or copping a quick self-feel, or you've got a hamster in your pants that you need to check in on. Save yourself the trouble, and bend down for the shoe, okay? We'll both be a lot happier.

Now, of course, there are risks with this method. If you're not wearing shoes, for instance, or even shoes without laces, then you're going to look pretty goddamned silly bending over to adjust your sole, or massage your ankle, or floss your toes, or whatever lame excuse you happen to come up with. So at least make sure you've got the proper equipment to play this particular game, okay? Also, for you male types out there, there's an added risk. See, if your fly actually is down, as you suspect it might be, and Mr. Winkles isn't properly, um, restrained, by your undergarments (or lack thereof), then the act of kneeling to 'tie your shoelace' may unfurl your flag for all to salute, if you smell what I'm cookin'. Which would leave you in a bit of a...um, pickle, as I think it's called. So be careful. Always keep a leg between you and any bystanders, just in case your Biggie Smalls decides to make a cameo appearance. Don't let the solution be part of the problem, men. Just be cool, and no one will be the wiser.)

Okay, where the hell was I? I got distracted again. Oh, conforming, right.

So, anyway, I've decided to give in and write a 100 Things About Me, that I'm moving off to a separate page. As soon as I've got a few there, I'll add a link to it here, and also link to others' similar lists. It seems that all the cool -- er, sorry, kewl bloggers are doing it, and so I'm gonna do it, too. Why? Because I'm old now, and I shouldn't be thinking for myself any longer. Or soon, feeding myself, or even going to the bathroom alone. But that's an entry for another day. For now, I'm gonna go work on my hundred things. Which should only take about three weeks and forty thousand words to finish. We old folks tend to ramble on and on, you know.

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