Electric eye, my ass

It has come to my attention recently that the autoflush toilets don't work for shit (pun intended). On top of that, the regular flush toilets need at least two to three flushes to leave a pristine bowl. I realize that this is a rather gross topic, but I was confronted with this issue not once, but twice today and frankly, I'm grossed out and need to share my burden. I'm at a loss as to what I should do about it. How does one convey that you have to flush until there's NOTHING THERE? In lieu of standing outside my favorite potty spots, I may be forced to post this letter in every bathroom/stall. Be conscientious of those who share your space, kids. One day you too may be faced with disgusting reminders of people's not so distant past.

Some mood music!




Dear Shitbits,



I understand that most toilets only need one flush to dispose of all matter in a complete manner, HOWEVER, the ancient plumbing of Boston does not have the sucking power to take down such massive amounts of fecal matter. I would appreciate it if you were to provide a follow-up flush to properly dispose of all the extra bits and pieces since I do not wish to know that you had corn last night. This is not a slight against you as most people in the Boston area are full of shit and this problem runs rampant throughout the city. I would just like our little corner of the world to be a little less shitty.



Yours respectfully,



Ms. Tidybowl

If Music is the Victim, Then So am I

Hello my peoples! I hope you're all not falling asleep at your desk like I am. It's grey (aside: I prefer grey over gray. Both are acceptable and mean the same thing. Gray is a color and grey is a colour, and my spellcheck is decidedly not British.) and kind of rainy out. It's taking all of my strength not to put my head down and nod off. I almost forgot to do an OR case this morning. Seriously, total blank out. Didn't even remember that it existed until I was ready to leave the building and go to my other office. Luckily, it was a very long case and I managed to not spill blood all over myself like I did in the first case. Mmmmm, bloooood.

Okay. First things first (redundant phrase. Of course first things come first, otherwise they'd be second things.), I've decided that I'm going to add a link to a song to each of my entries (This will be retroactive, so feel free to go to back entries). I think it will help create the mood for the entry. That and when I'm on the bus, I'm listening to music, so it should also help in creating the atmosphere where all these moments of wonderment occur. Today's song is a classic and has been in my head for about A MONTH. I'm posting two versions of it. First the actual artist performing. Second, a really weird and surreal version of it. Killer Whales?!? Really?!?

Now that we have that taken care of, let's talk about looking ragged. I don't mean how you look when you're tired after a long day or didn't sleep all that well the night before, but seriously run down, ass draggin', ragged. I'm waiting for the bus pondering the picture on the delivery truck parked in front of the Harvest Co-op. It had a picture of everyone who works at the company and one of the women looked as though she had lost her hair due to chemo. I give the company a lot of credit as well as the woman who was okay with her image there for all eternity or at least a long time. I don't know if I'd be able to do that. Right, so I'm standing there just waiting and this woman walks by me. She looks like hell. I won't sugar coat it. She just looked like she has definitely had a better day. A day when her shirt wasn't on backwards, her hair was dry, it wasn't effing humid, she had fewer bags to carry, her pants weren't ill fitting, and she didn't have to walk to wherever she was walking. I felt bad about it, but then the bus came. It did however hammer home the need to make sure that my shirt is on correctly, no matter how tired I am. Also, to avoid the drowned rat look when it's not raining. It's not flattering.

Mea Culpa for my lack of snark

I am so sorry. I have been horrible at writing eloquent and entertaining quips about my daily busventure. If you're wondering about what's causing my life to be so exciting that I can't even write a blog, you're going to be disappointed. The reason is this... it's been crap ass hot. Bloody humid. Just gross. I know I've already expounded on how difficult temperature control is on the bus. I feel as though I may have obsessed about it, and then I realize that I only did that in my head and didn't actually write any of it down. Probably a good thing since this is what it would have been "I'm hot. hot. HOT. This sucks. I'm tired of sweating. I hate sweat. Ahhrg, it's in my eye! Don't rub it! You're wearing contacts so that you can wear sunglasses, which are fogging up like crazy right now. Hey, you look cool though, except for that nice layer of sweat on your upper lip. That's hot. It's hot. I hate hot. There's a backpack shaped sweat stain on my back. Gross. There's some chick on this bus wearing a jacket. I want to beat her to death. At least that will take my mind off the heat. It'll make me sweat more though. Damn." And so on and so forth.

Like I said, the heat turns my brain to molasses and any coherent thought is usually a diatribe against hot things. When it's not crazy hot out, it's raining. On the few days where it's been pleasant, I haven't had to ride the bus. That is enjoyable. The rain has been ridic this summer. It has also caused gardens across New England to be devastated, including my own. Fun Fact: there is a potato blight and a tomato blight effecting nearly all the farms and gardens in the Northeastern US. This blight is the same blight that affected the potatoes during the Great Famine in Ireland. It killed nearly 50% of the potato crop. Lots of people left Ireland, and I'm here today because of it. A real "Full Circle Moment." Anywho, there have also been onslaughts of several slug armies. I hate them. They're gross. Some people smash them with rocks, others pour salt on them. Both of those methods make me want to yack. I smashed one in an early skirmish and got the "I'm totally skeeved out chills." My method of attack became more sophisticated. I make them drink themselves to death. Beer, my friends. Slugs are lushes. They will drink until they die. I feel as though this is humane and yet effective. I highly endorse it for anyone who has to wage a similar war. Use cheap beer though. They like it more and it feels less wasteful.

So yeah, it's been a rather uneventful summer. I'm not complaining, but hopefully, or not, the bus will give me more interesting fodder soon. It has to be more interesting than me sitting behind a very large, bald man with a spider tattoo on his scalp that looks kinda like it's moving because the sweat is running down his head. Let's hope so giant, sweaty, spider man. Let's hope so.

And now for your listening and viewing pleasure something fantastic