Public Men's Room Etiquette

Aware as I am that this country is more diverse than I can possibly imagine, I thought one thing was common knowledge among a large portion of the U.S. population. Though never taught in a classroom and rarely spoken aloud, bathroom etiquette whilst in the men's room should be -- or so I thought it was -- firmly ingrained in the recesses of the brains of all American human males ages 13 and higher. (I've lived in or been to another country so I can't speak for their men's room practices.) It's come to my conclusion though that numerous men either don't know or simply disregard the rules of the public toilet. 

As I am a man who seeks solution and enlightenment rather than condemnation and judgmental verbal barbs, I present to you the (cue movie trailer announcer voice) MEN'S ROOM ETIQUETTE MANIFESTO...

-There is no talking. It's a men's room, not a smoking lounge. There's no need to chill out and regale someone with tales of your life. It's not that we don't care about the UFC fight or the burgers you grilled on Labor Day. On the contrary; another man might have the perfect seasoning combination to make those burgers pop. But the men's room is no place to discuss that. Or anything else! Shut the fuck up, handle your business, and get out as soon as you can. 

-The no talking rule applies to friends and family. I could be talking to my buddy as we are (what we think) randomly walking around the office, but once we reach the men's room door and realize the other also needs to hit the head, all talking ceases. And during our time in the restroom -- especially when the down-there parts are exposed to air -- nary a word is to be spoken. Once we're both zipped up and out of the restroom, the conversation can resume. And if you walk into the men's room and see someone you know, simply acknowledge their presence by nodding without looking them in the eye. Which brings me to my next point...

-Do NOT make eye contact. Specificity is needed; don't let your eyes make contact with any part of anyone else's body. Not all bathrooms have the barriers between the urinals. And if I quickly (less than one second) scan my surroundings and notice you trying to get a view of my bat and balls, I will break the rule of silence and yell accusations and insults as loud as I can. Was your glance at my Duke Rainier Worthington III really worth the public outing?

-Stay out of the middle. Just like in every other instance (except sex), personal space is a very big deal. If there are an odd number of urinals, never is it acceptable to use the even-numbered urinal(s). If there are three urinals, don't use the second; if there are five, don't use the second or forth urinal. The even-numbered urinals are there simply for decorative purposes and are not meant to be used. If some inconsiderate chap decides to release his golden river in an even-numbered urinal, use the urinal at least three spaces away. If there are only three urinals and someone is at the middle urinal, use the stall. 

The exception to this rule is if you're in a public bathroom with a plethora of urine receptacles. Choose whichever urinal you'd like as long as it is at least two spaces away from the next person. If you can, choose the one closest to the ends. 

-Don't use a stall if you only have to pee. Unless motivated by the even-numbered urinal predicament and the urinals are in working order, you should not be in a stall if all you have to do is pee. Be a man, and stand at the urinal. No one wants to look at your member. No one wants to critique your stance or the way you count the wall tiles in front of you. Not to offend, but using the stall to pee is seen by many as a sign of weakness and insecurity.  

-FLUSH THE GODDAMN TOILET! Even though it's not your bathroom, clean up after yourself. If you take this years Browns to the Super Bowl, why would you not flush the toilet? ... I'm waiting! Why...would you not...flush...the fucking toilet? This is a public restroom, and you are a gigantic bag with which one douches if you leave the restroom unsuitable for future users. Five days ago, instead of using a portable toilet that molested my sense of smell and sight, I took a piss NEXT to the portable toilet, much to the chagrin of the people driving along A1A and the Hispanic family 20 feet away loading their car. Please don't make me have to make this choice while in a public restroom. Along with flushing the toilet, don't leave solid objects in the urinals, throw away your trash, and quit splashing water everywhere. Behave like a respectable man.

-Wash your hands!!!!! I don't care if you have to poo, pee, or just blow your nose, washing your hands is something that should be first nature. Not second nature; first nature! Think about it. When you leave the  public restroom, you're going back out into and interacting with the public. You'll be touching a lot of what everyone else has to touch, and I'm pretty sure everyone would appreciate not having to come in contact with your urine, penis, pubic hair, poo, ass and or snot residue. Don't do your business, leave without washing up, and then have the gall to shake people's hands. Take the 10-30 seconds and clean your hands. I will judge the fuck out of you and alert as many people as possible if I see you leave the restroom without washing your hands. And if possible, when leaving the bathroom, don't make direct contact with the door knob/handle. 

Guys, have I missed any restroom rules? If so, post them in the comment section. Ladies, I'm aware there is a beehive of rules and regulations surrounding the ladies' room. If you're allowed to divulge your rules, what is a no go when it comes to the ladies' room? 

Thanks for listening and (hopefully) sharing,

B.rand

Come inside my world

I wish the entire year looked and felt like spring in late march in north Florida.
I believe my fear of rejection has crippled a vital span of my life.
I aim low because it's my belief that when I aim high, things can't possibly meet such expectations. Me and my dreaming big, eh?
I'm always apprehensive about calling, text messaging, IM'ing and any other form of reaching out to people because I always feel like I'm imposing on their free time.
I'm not a simple man and neither are my tastes, despite appearances.
I love writing and appreciate when writing's done well, i.e. song lyrics, scripts, magazine articles, etc.
If I lose a lot of weight and someone decides to do one of those before-and-after photos, I want my before/fat photo to be one of me smiling and or having a good time. I'm not a sad/disgruntled person.
Having said that, sometimes I just want to be left the fuck alone and not talk to anyone or do anything.
But most times, I crave interaction with other people.
I wish I could be the center of attention (in a good way) when I go out.
I believe hard work and skill speaks for itself, and as a result, I don't ass kiss.
I wish people loved Y Tu Mama Tambien as much as I do.
When it comes to friends, it's definitely about quality, not quantity. Who wants a lot of half-assing friends?
I hate hate hate hate hate my bald spot and gimpy leg. The gap in my teeth, though, I feels makes me more distinguished.
I love love love love love that I'm awkward and weird and random because trying to be like the masses seems like way more work than I'm willing to put into anything
I don't care if I ever get married; I won't rule it out, but I never pray about it happening. But I do not want kids.
I wish there was at least on person who truly got me 100 percent.
I make it a point to have at least one great belly-aching laugh a day.
The older I get, the less fucks I give. And the less shame I have.
At least twice a day, I think of going to the bank, getting every dime I have to my name, getting in my car, and just driving somewhere far and never returning.
If I won a huge lottery, I would put half of it in an interest-earning acct, and with the rest I'd travel the world non-stop.
I have wanted to write scripts for quite a while, but Tarantino makes me want to direct.
I don't have lots of close friends, but the ones I have I treasure more than they could imagine.
I hate when the biggest deciding factor behind any choice is wondering what people would think of you if you did or didn't do what you're deciding to do.
I love standing in the rain with no umbrella and just enjoying what God has given me.
I have an unexplained and oddball fascination with cornfields. Whenever I pass one, I want to pull over, get out of the car and frolic in the corn.
I find myself fascinated by how people look naked. People go through a lot to dress themselves and present their personality to the world via clothes and accessories. But seeing them naked is almost like seeing who they really are.
I get bored easily.
I always feel like people are hanging out without me.
If I knew I could live forever without, I would devote one day to doing every drug known to man, drive a motorcycle extremely fast, and go skydiving once a week.
I always thing about what life would be like if I had super powers. Telepathy is boss.
I think it's time I stopped.

Laissez les bons temps rouler

Once upon a time, there were four fun-seeking and free-spirited young adults who wanted to travel to New Orleans to take part in Mardi Gras. There was Beaumont the Devilish, Jack the Awkward, Simon the Inappropriate and Winston the Mischievous.

The members became whole in Tallahassee and made their way to the Big easy, stopping only to pee, get gas…and to sleep for six hours in a cheap Mississippi (redundant, much?) motel. Arriving in N’Awlins too early to check into their ridiculously over-priced hotel, our heroes hit the town early in the afternoon in search of beignets (ben-yays), crawfish and alcoholic beverages. Please don’t bother judging the group; they’re all adults and fully-functioning members of society. If they want to have hard liquor at 1 p.m., goddamnit, they are allowed that privilege.

Having not showered in more than 24 hours, the group members were happy to finally check in, shower and grab a power nap to prepare for the night’s adventures. Awake, dressed, and tipsy off two bottles of wine between the four of them, Jack, Simon, Winston and Beaumont made their way to the nearest 4 Loko dispensary they could find. Unwisely, they ignored the prophetic words of a wise local black man on the streets. “Y’all brown baggin’ 4 Loko? Y’all gon get fucked up! Don’t drink two.”


Fast forward about an hour later, Jack’s drunk as shit at 6 p.m. They crew is still drinking, in Popeye's, and Jack’s making Katrina and levee jokes…loudly! Realizing he was too drunk too early, Jack threw away the Loko and the quartet made their way to the parade. Being the first there for the parade meant we were front row once the festivities started. Later, Beaumont, Winston and Jack decided it was time for another Loko, while Simon wisely opted for a Bud Lite. Simon’s wisdom was a godsend and presumably kept one, maybe two, of the group members out of jail.

What started as a trip to drop off some of their beads in the hotel room turned into chaos. Beaumont, drunk off life, two cups of wine and two and a third cans of Loko, was put under constant supervision by the group. Winston, the enabler of many things wicked, didn’t have as much of the Loko as Beaumont, but was just as drunk. Among many things, the two raced down the hotel hallways and threw numerous broken beads around the hotel room. Beaumont even began demolishing the metal towel rack in the hotel bathroom.

Jack, merely partially drunk, went into wrangler mode, taking it upon themselves to talk down the two drunkards and, in numerous instances, physically restrain Beaumont from leaving the hotel. But the devilishly elusive Winston could not be contained, and headed out into the night. Not wanting to leave Beaumont -- now passed out -- alone, for fear he’d wake up drunkenly disoriented and expose himself to the public, Jack and Simon called it an early night and were asleep before 1 a.m.

On Saturday, after Winston and Beaumont slept off the booze, the group had some orgasm-inducing Cajun food. They then checked out of their hotel and loaded up their car just in time to get caught in parade, stand-still traffic while baby Hurricane Katrina pelted the city. Incredibly cranky, our weary companions were finally able to drive in the rain 35 miles -- 24 of which were over one bridge -- to their hotel for Saturday night.

Determined not to let dickhole-like weather muck up what was meant to be an awesome trip, the four took solace in the cause of and solution to all life’s problems, booze. At Daiquiris and Creams (yes, Creams), they discovered they could buy daiquiris in the following sizes: small, medium, large, half gallon and gallon! Simon and Jack drank half of their half gallon daiquiris, took the party to Outback (thanks, N’Awlins, for not having open container laws) and got ready for the night’s festivities.

Simon, Jack and Beaumont had no idea Bourbon St. would be so densely packed. After fighting their way through the crowd to get to the Hand Grenade hut, seeing titties of various sizes, colors and pleasantness along the way, the gang shelled out $5 to set up shop on a balcony to be more discriminate with the way they distributed their beads. The rain may have left behind winds and chilly temperatures, but the crew didn’t it ruin their night. They gave out beads, saw someone they knew from home, ate a diet-mutilating (and thereby great) burger, made fun of a half naked woman drunkenly rolling around in garbage juice, among other things. And one of them, not the one society would dictate, even earned a gift of his own.

Sunday arrived and with it, came time for our protagonists to head home. But not before someone got tattooed. Leaving New Orleans around 1 p.m., our weary heroes made it to Tallahassee around 10 p.m. to drop off one of their companions. Thanks to almost no gas stations being open when the car carrying the remaining three was almost on E and a hellishly slow drive on a 10-mile stretch of road when they were 28 miles away from home, the three arrived at their homes in less than stellar mood. Subsequently, two of the group members were “sick” when it came to work the following morning.

Although there was an early night and the weather kept us from doing some of the things on our list, Amanda, Andrew, Matt and I had a great time in New Orleans. We came back with this story and many more that would make this blog way longer than it already is. When/if we ever go back to Mardi Gras, we will have learned from out mistakes (easy on the Loko, book hotels more in advance) and build on the good times we had (eat more great food, bring our own booze so we can save money but still get good and drunk). And as fun as road trips are, if money allows, we’re flying. I hope you had as much fun reading about the adventures of the Fantastic Four as we did living them. We continually live happily ever after.

Yo mama!

Every now and again I hear about an obscure, cult, and or limited-released film that might be worth my time. After watching the well-advertised, commercially-successful Pan's Labyrinth, I perused the movie's trivia page on IMDb.com. It noted how Maribel Verdu's modest, subservient character in the movie was different from the sexpot characters she normally plays, i.e. Luisa in Y Tu Mama Tambien. I have no qualms about the fact that I love seeing naked people, especially naked people simulating sex in the name of art and cinema. So immediately I looked up Y Tu Mama Tambien and was surprised that it was as critically acclaimed as it was, that it was and still is the highest grossing film in Mexico's cinematic history, and that I'd never even heard of it. So, as an antidote to my cinematic ignorance, I went to Video 21.

I'd like to take a moment to clue you all in on the wonderful wonderfulness that is Video 21. It's not just a movie rental store; it's the greatest fucking video store I've ever visited. They have damn near ANY movie you want to see. Mainstream movies, independent movies. Movies from years and years past. Cult B and blaxploitation movies. Foreign movies that were never officially released in the United States. This place even has a back room full of porn for sale and rent. Why anyone would pay for porn is beyond me, but that's another topic for another day. Video 21 shames Blockbuster and Redbox. 
  
"Tambien" is about two 18-year-old boys fresh out of high school (or secondary school. Whatever everyone other than Americans call it) whose girlfriends are spending the summer in Europe. (Side note: if you send your lady to Europe alone for more than a week, she's coming back single.) The friendship is an unlikely pairing. Julio's family is working-class, while Tenoch still has servants who prepare his meals for him. Breaking the summer monotony, they meet Luisa, who's married to Tenoch's cousin, and invite her to road trip to a beach that doesn't exist in hopes of at least one of them sleeping with her. Although she initially declines, she gives in and leaves her stable life behind after her husband confessed to her his multiple infidelities.

The lively trio drives through rural Mexico smoking pot, regaling each other with tales of their respective relationships with their partners, talking about and subsequently having sex. It would be unfair to say Luisa is easy, but that fortress is definitely not impenetrable. And those loose castle gates stir up some deep-seated and repressed emotion as well as a few naughty yet spiteful confessions. 

I love this movie for so many reasons but the movie's greatest selling point is director and co-writer Alfonso Cuaron's tendency to make the background seem more like a character than just the setting. Different time throughout "Tambien," the video plays but the audio is muted, allowing a narrator to add more depth and information to the scene. Narration topics range from the real-life political shift in 1999 that put an end to a 71-year political party's reign to the harsh lives of some of the poor people the trio pass on their way to the beach to Tenoch's hesitance to touch anything in Julio's house and Julio's reticence while in Tenoch's house. Initially off-putting, the narrations serve as a way to show the viewer that the movie isn't just about Julio, Tenoch and Luisa. There are other, more important things going on around them that make their arguments seem petty. It's easy to see how much Cuaron appreciates the landscape, from the seldom-traveled roads to politically stirring metropolitan areas to the beach that turned out not to be so made up.

Although the movie is funny, erotic, insightful and at times chaotic, "Tambien" makes me extremely sad. In an effort not be be a heaping bag of homemade vinegary douche, I'll let the ending and other key parts of the movie stay a secret. But during this 106 minutes of cinematic delight, we witness how easily life can change for the worse. Whether it's a family losing their livelihood or a girl dying way too young due to her harsh living conditions, no one is exempt from hard times. But the saddest part of the movie is how easily negligence and inconsideration can shatter a friendship that until a carefree poon-hounding car ride was considered unbreakable. To me, it mirrors how I am not as close to friends with whom I thought I'd never go a day without communicating.

Do yourself a favor. Put Y Tu Mama Tambien in your Netflix queue. If you see it available at Redbox, invest the dollar plus tax. If you happen to be in Blockbuster or the vastly superior Video 21 and they have a copy, jump on that shit and ride it out of the store. This is not a movie that will leave you nonchalant about it. Turn on the English subtitles and let it wash over you like the surf over the shore.

Status Update

Since Nov. 30 I've been trying to get my shit together. In my desire to lead a healthier lifestyle, I have given up fast food, traded sugary drinks for water and fruit juices, and fucked up fruits and veggies like they owed me money. As a result, my body feels a bit healthier, but more importantly, it feels cleaner. I felt guilty during the holidays when I ate a Christmas tree Reese's. I get a bit put off when I see a large amounts of fried food in one place. I can't visibly tell tell if I am losing weight, but I feel like I'm doing better in regards to my health.

But my quest for better living requires me to lose weight. Lots of weight. And to do that, simply eating healthier won't cut it. So now that the gift buying of the holiday season is over, I have money to spend on a gym membership. Fortunately for me -- more specifically, my wallet -- working at PRC gets about ten bucks knocked off my monthly membership fee. So on Jan. 10, for the first time in roughly seven years, I went to a gym.

I feel a bit ashamed to say this, but I was and still am (to an extent) intimidated by gyms. I am a bit unfamiliar with some of the equipment. I'm not sure if i should work on shoulders and legs in one workout or if I should do abs and back. My inability to run a mile without stopping to briskly walk. My overall heavy-duty frame. There are numerous aspects of working out that make me feel very insecure. But I don't like living in fear. And I definitely hate feeling inadequate. So the insecurities and fear can go kick rocks; show me to the treadmill.

My fears proved to be unwarranted since at least half the people were either as out of shape as I and or significantly older. It doesn't take a nuclear physicist with a minor in marine biology to work a treadmill or curl a 20 pound barbell. Working out is like riding a roomy, extremely heavy bike. After about a day or two, I should be back in the swing of things. I think what really has me worried is the amount of effort I'll have to put into working out to finally see physical results. And the amount of time it will take for me to even get close to my goal weight range.

So here's to me keeping my shit together and making these gym visits a daily thing. I appreciate all the encouragement from everyone and will use it as fuel to keep me going. Keep me on my game, folks.

B.Rand

Smooth Operator, indeed

Unless you have been living under a cluster of rocks for the past ten + years, you know that I am a huge Sade fan. I'm talking hide-in-your-bushes-type of fan. So when it was announced in September that the group would be embarking on a world tour in 2011, there was no question in my mind that I was going. And just as obvious was with whom I would be attending.

My Pop Culture buddy, Lindsay, and I have drummed it into each other's head for at least five years that if Sade toured, we'd go. No matter how far we'd have to travel. So when the tour roster listed a show in Sunrise, Fla., I figured it would be an ideal situation. I observe my birthday a month late with a trip to South Florida, PC would scoot ten minutes up the road, and we could both enjoy a no-doubt amazing, once-in-a-decade concert.

So today, Dec. 6. Lindsay and I synced up with laser like precision, hundreds of miles apart, and order our floor seats, literally five seats away. If you notice me becoming extra frugal in the coming days, it's because these floors seats were my Christmas and birthday gift to me from me. But seeing a great friend, getting away for a weekend and seeing Sade is well worth the shekels I spent.

So in preparation for this concert, I want to lay down some rules. More like fair warning.

(This is an important one) DO NOT plan anything for July 15 and 16, 2011 and expect me to be there. It's just not happening.
-Be prepared for an excessive amount of Sade posts on all of my social networking sites the closer to the concert it gets.
-Do not judge me if you receive text message of me geeking out while at the concert.
-And definitely don't judge me if I call you before, during or after the concert in tears, a la white woman at a Michael Jackson concert in the 80s.
-Help me find the best possible set of clothes to wear. Normally, dressing up for these types of things aren't very important to me, but one must look his best if he's going to impregnate eight people in one night.
-Keep me motivated to Get My Shit Together. It's been clinically proven that the more weight you lose, the more people will want to have sex with you. And with Sweetest Taboo playing....I'm just sayin.
-Don't bring any Sade hate my way during concert time. I respect everyone's opinions, likes and dislikes. But I don't want to have to call you a so-and-so AND a such-in-such just because you write "DISLIKE"  under one of my Sade-related posts.

This concert is a huge deal for me since I've rarely gone to concerts, especially one of this magnitude. I'm not even joking when I say that watching the Sade concert with my PC is #2 on my bucket list. I usually hate setting my excitement bar so high because it always seems that when I do, whatever I was looking forward to never meets my expectations. But this show, in conjunction with Getting My Shit Together and my new lease on life, should make for a astounding summer and belated birthday.

Deuce deuce,
B.Rand

Support the Get My Shit Together campaign

I'm not going to be predictable and wait until Jan. 1 to make this declaration. Now is the time to speak it. Now is the time to start it.

I, Brandon Davon Billingsworth Oliver IX, am getting my shit together.

If that's too cryptic for you, I'll break it down. I'm not sure if anyone has noticed; I try my best to hide it. But I'm fat. Not funny, child-like Zach Galifianakis fat. I'm talking "he'd be Precious if it weren't for the appropriately-fitting clothes, visible neck, sunny disposition and the penis" kind of fat. I don't like being Preciously fat. Not to say that I harbor any self-hatred or dreams of extreme surgery. I just don't like being fat. But I figure if a man can walk on the moon; if black people can go from slaves to politicians; if Michael can go from soil brown to pearl white; then I can get my fat ass in the gym and produce some worth wild results.

I've tried numerous times before to get my straight-man's Richard Simmons on, using countless methods -- i.e., unsupervised workouts, cabbage soup diet, aerobics, fasting, two weeks of P.E. the summer before my high school freshman year, etc. I now realize what I lack when it came to my previous weight-loss attempts was support from my family and friends. They weren't being pricks; they just didn't know I was trying to get my non-combative Billy Blanks on. Any time I tried to carve the fat, I treated it like secret so well-guarded even the Illuminati wouldn't discover it. I'm not sure if it was out of embarrassment or just not wanting to get people's hopes up, but it was my secretive pet project.

But as I get older, my level of fucks given diminishes. As a result, I don't mind if people know I have a desire to get my beach body in time for Speedo season. I actually want people to know. Since I moved back home, I've noticed my life getting better, bit by bit. New job, getting closer with and making friends, road tripping, getting health insurance. But one should never get complacent. One should strive to get better and better with each day. So next on my agenda is improving myself physically and aesthetically -- the Get My Shit Together campaign. In an effort to get my shit together, I have to part with some of my old ways.

I rebuke thee, fast food.

Get thee behind, snack machine.

Get the hell out of my face, sugary, caffeinated beverages.

Adieu, sweet foods.

Sugar, we're just not going to be able to meet up like we did in the old days.

Fried foods, I'm no longer your beaten wife. I'm not coming back...OK, maybe a bit. But it won't be like it was.

Hit the bricks, large portions.

Taking an elevator up one flight of stairs, we've never been friends, and it's going to stay that way.

Pork, to me, you are now swine. And you know how black folks feel about swine.

Milkshakes and fatty ice cream, GTFO

And as much as this kills me to say it, alcohol we can't see each other like we used to. Whenever Jose, Jim, Comrade Smirnoff, Mr. Sinclare and the rest party too hard, I wind up bloated yet inexplicably in the mood for two McDoubles and fries.

So what I need from my family, friends and readers is your support in my journey to hit the 200-250 lb mark. I'm looking into a gym membership in Palatka. Once I start going to the gym, I need you all to make me keep going. Encourage me to pack my lunch for work and not hit up any dubious eateries. Support the lie that cucumbers and carrots are just as delicious as Ruffles and Cheetos.

So, family, friends, readers and "friends," I need your help with this, my most daring adventure yet. Keep me motivated; don't let me stop. It's a bit unrealistic for me to completely give up the aforementioned foods/drinks, but make sure if you see me with any of them, question it. If you know of any foods that are a must for my healthy diet, I'm open to your suggestions. Hell if you know of any cookbooks I need in my life, do not hesitate to suggest it. And once I start going to the gym, I need you all to make sure I go on a constant basis.

Support the lie that cucumbers and carrots are just as delicious as Ruffles and Cheetos,
B.rand