After wheel-barreling 2000 pounds of rocks from the street and organizing them in the garden yesterday, I experienced one of most horrifying moments of my life. I looked at my left hand and noticed my wedding ring was gone. I immediately started searching the thousands of rocks while panic and shock flowed through my body. Silvi kept asking me, “Where did you take off your gloves?” I kept telling her I didn’t know. She kept persisting. I finally answered, “Over on the grass” and continued to search the rocks. Of course, Silvi found the ring a couple of minutes later in a crack between the grass and the sidewalk. It must have fallen off when I removed my gloves. How did she know? I love my wife. And yes, I cried like a baby after she found it. The ring is now duct-taped to my finger.
Idiot. That’s what I felt like about an hour ago when I accidentally sent out an unedited, unfinished, first draft of a story to the subscribers of my blog. Heck, I wasn’t even sure if I was going to publish it. The story, tentatively called, Monkey in the Middle – An Odd Conversation was in the stage that Author Ann Lamott infamously refers to as “the shitty first draft” in her Best-Selling Book, Bird by Bird. In many cases, the story ends up being completely different than it was during the initial writing or sometimes it is never even published. That’s a completely normal process…you write and tweak and write and tweak and write and tweak and then you decide if you like it enough to publish it. Idiot. Instead of hitting the preview button to see what the blog post would look like with the photo, I pressed the publish button. But you know what? The easiest thing I can do right now is just blame the whole thing on my wife since she always distracts me with her beauty (I think I just scored some serious points there).
I learned a big lesson, though: always write my blog posts in Word and then copy and paste the final piece into the blog before publishing it. I’m glad it happened now while my subscriber list is smaller and not in the thousands. If you are not a subscriber, you missed it. Hopefully I won’t do it again. But now I am determined to finish that story and publish it soon, shitty or not. Stay tuned…
To the For Dummies executives: we need to talk. I have a great idea for a book that will sell billions. Every man in the world needs to read this book (and maybe a few hundred women). Here is a brief outline of my idea, as well as a sample introduction. Call me! I’m serious, don’t piss me off!
Pissing For Dummies – A Book Proposal
Chapter One: Choosing the Right Location
Chapter Two: Puddles and the Importance of Aiming
Chapter Three: Too Much Shaking = You Are Playing With it!
Chapter Four: Asparagus – What the Hell?
Chapter Five: Washing Hands, What a Concept!
Chapter Six: That Burning Sensation and other Conversation Killers
Chapter Seven: Pissing in Your Pants – How Old is Too Old?
Chapter Eight: Urinal Etiquette: Conversing With the Man Next to You
Chapter Nine: Origin of the Word “Piss” and Other Neat Facts
Chapter Ten: The Toilet Seat – Up or Down?
Congratulations! Whether you have purchased this book, received it anonymously as a gift, stole it, or found it on a bench at the bus terminal, you are well on your way to learning everything you have ever wanted to know about pissing. Since the beginning of time, there has always been a need for pissing. But nobody has ever had the balls to write a book about it. Until now.
I actually wanted to start writing this book back in 1998, but I had to take a piss and got distracted by something on television. I get distracted easily. The same thing happened to me back in high school and I ended up missing my entire sophomore year because of it. But when it comes to pissing, there are no distractions; when you gotta go, you gotta go. Well, except for my friend, Ray. He can hold it for days. Of course, he can trim his toenails with his teeth, so maybe he’s a bad example and just a freak overall.
Pissing changed dramatically back when those health geniuses recommended that people should drink eight glasses of water a day. Who the hell do they think they are to recommend such a ridiculous thing? Nobody wants to do that, not even intravenously. And anyone trying to follow their advice would have to triple their visits to the can each day. Productivity at work would suffer tremendously. Bottom line…too much pissing is bad for the economy and can cause unemployment.
I have another friend (yes, I have more than one, you bastard!) and he always sits down on the toilet while he pees, just like his wife. He said he started doing it because he and his wife would always argue about the toilet seat being up or down. I’ll get more into that topic in Chapter 10, and also let you know why I think he has lost his balls.
Location is just as important in pissing as it is in Real Estate. You just can’t piss anywhere. Well, unless you’re a dog…or my friend, Mike. His boldest move was pissing on the side of the Tulúm Ruins, near Cancun, Mexico. He told me it was good for the Mayan soil and that they could plant some “rosas” in that spot and help increase tourism. I snapped a photo of the lying bastard in the act, to keep as possible blackmail material. Please understand that I call him (and all of my family members, and everyone else for that matter) bastard with all of the love and respect from my heart, and that I would never actually blackmail him, unless I felt like it.
As for other bad locations for pissing, here’s the short list: the reserved parking spot for the Pastor at your church, inside of a dog park, in front of mosques in the Middle East (unless you’re trying to put out a car bomb fire), outside of the locker room at an all-girl catholic school, and within 5.5 inches of a table saw or sausage cutter (for me: within 12 inches). It may be best to also avoid Lake Baikal in Siberia. Although it is the largest lake in the world and a wonderful sight to see, it is also home to the infamous Dickmangle Fish.
But what are the best techniques for pissing? Is it okay to piss in front of your spouse with the door open? How long should you go before finally cleaning the rim around the toilet? Is pissing with no hands dangerous? You’ll find that after reading this book, all of these important questions will be answered and then some. You’ll also learn very quickly that you’ll have a more positive attitude about life, more energy, renewed motivation to achieve all of your goals, and most importantly, more confidence when you have your penis in hand.
Speaking of penises, you’ll notice that about 99% of the advice in this book is geared towards men, since they are the ones that just can’t seem to get a handle on pissing. That being said, women can also extract what they want from this book, and then simply spoon-feed it to their knowledge-deprived man slowly. Note to women: Your man will resist and say that he doesn’t have a problem with pissing, so it may be wise to sedate him before proceeding. I recommend pills over beer, since a 6-pack will only cause him to piss even more. The best advice is to go through this book with an open mind. Set your expectations very low to ensure complete satisfaction. Once you have finished reading Pissing For Dummies, you are highly encouraged to journey deeper into the fascination of urination by reading these other incredible future New York Times Best Sellers: Pissing For Fun and Profit, All Dressed Up and Nowhere to Piss, and Pissing Your Way Into The Real Estate Business.
Enough said…Let’s Get Pissing!
About The Author: Rich Amooi resides in San Jose, California. He has been pissed on, pissed off, and most recently while in England, bloody pissed. The bastard is currently working on the forthcoming book: The Wonderful World Of Liquids: My Life as a Bartender and Urinalysis Technician.
Every morning I walk on the Los Gatos Creek Trail, a beautiful 9.7-mile trail that runs from the middle of San Jose to Lexington Reservoir in Los Gatos. And every morning I happily and cheerfully say “Good Morning” to every person I encounter. It’s just something I’ve always done, my way of spreading joy and positivity. This morning, I decided to do a little experiment. I wanted to count how many people actually said good morning back to me. The answer? 11 out of 15. And what have I taken away from the painstakingly extensive, labor-intensive, award-winning study? Hell, I don’t know. But I will tell you this; I’m not so surprised by the numbers.
This trail would be a great place for a human behavior expert to hang out for a few days to collect data. It really is fascinating. There are walkers, joggers, bikers, and the occasional rollerblader. As for the walkers, some keep their heads down or to the side as they walk, to avoid all possible human social interaction. Others appear to not even understand what I am saying. Many athletes have their iPods so loud that you could sing along to that Maroon 5 song with them. Some women look at me as if I am trying to hit on them. Not! Others are so caught up in their gossip and talking crap about a co-worker or family member that they simply don’t hear me (even though I project very well and usually throw in a hand wave). I try not to be judgmental. Who knows what they have going on in their lives, right? And if they don’t want to say good morning, they really don’t have to! It’s their right. It’s their choice.
I do think it’s such a waste of an amazing walk in nature, though, when you don’t even notice the trees, the creek, the flowers, the smell, the wildlife, and the people, all around you. This is life. I’m guessing most of the people didn’t even notice this amazing grasshopper on the fence as they walked by it. Or if they did notice it, they probably didn’t even take the time to admire it, thank the universe for it, or say good morning to it…like someone I know.
What about you? Do you say good morning or hello to people you encounter on a walk or in the cheese section at Whole Foods? Do you flash a smile their way? Or do you try to avoid eye contact and just move on your way? Just curious…
I was invited to be a featured writer with HumorOutcasts. I hope to be able to publish something at least once a week. Today my first story was published on their website! Check it out HERE
I enjoy writing short stories, parodies, absurdities, song lyrics, poems, and radio commercials, but what I really love the most are romantic comedies. So, I thought it would be fitting to join the Romance Writers of America! There are over 10,000 members and, so far, I’ve only seen one other guy (I’m sure there are more…somewhere). It will be fun to bring some testosterone into the organization. This will also a chance for me to network with other fellow romance writers, learn from the Romance University and annual conference, and chat and get advice in the forums, as I travel down the road to becoming a published author. How cool!
I was walking behind Mr. Negativity this morning on the trail. He was talking on his cellphone and everyone within a seventy-five mile radius could hear his conversation and the colorful language he was using. If my mom had been around, she would have been jamming bars of soap down his throat. I learned about his restraining order, his car that was towed, the collection agents who have been calling, his hatred of walking, and so much more. I could easily ace a one hundred question quiz about the things that piss him off. Here are a few:
1) He’s pissed off at the owners of the laundromat because the chocolate stain on his “Got Weed?” t-shirt was actually bigger after he took it out of the washer. “That washing machine is fucked up!” he said.
2) He’s pissed off at his mom for the new mole he found while washing “his boys” in the shower at the YMCA yesterday. He blames her and insists she gave him the mole gene. “That mole is fucked up!” he said.
3) He’s pissed off at his boss for firing him after using foul language on the job. His response to his boss after being fired? “That’s really fucked up!”
I believe that these types of people attract the negative situations into their lives. So, it was no surprise when he stepped in dog crap. “That shit is fucked up!” he said. I really don’t see a future for him in public speaking.
I’m so fascinated with our dog, Chiqui. He was part of a package deal, when I met Silvi. He’s a very expressive dog too. In fact, if you zoom in on his lower extremities, you’ll notice that he is expressing his excitement to see you. Chiqui means “little” in Spanish. After zooming in, that name makes a whole bunch more sense. But Silvi tells me she named him that six years ago because he was such a cute “little” ball of fur. I see what she means (see photo below). What she failed to realize before she named him was he would eventually get bigger! A more appropriate name would have been Grande.
When it comes to dog hair, I’ve seriously thought about collecting all of the hair that I empty from the vacuum cleaner each week and stuffing our flat pillows with it. In fact, maybe I could start selling Dog Hair Pillows at the Flea Market! Goose down is so 80′s, anyway. He must have some biological problem or vitamin deficiency because a dog should not reproduce hair that quickly. It grows almost as fast as the hair in my nose! Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. It’s just that, every now and then, I’d like to have a morning where I don’t wake up with hair in my mouth.
Chiqui’s bodily functions are very important to Silvi. Some people would say she is obsessed.
Easy to use translator: Some people = me
Silvi wants Chiqui to pee every four hours or she worries. She wants Chiqui to poop twice a day or she, you guessed it, worries. If we go out together with him, I am the designated pooper-scooper (lucky me!). If I take him out myself, as soon as I arrive back at the house, the questions come flying at me faster than those spit wads from Brian Townsend’s straw in my sixth grade math class. What questions?
“Did Chiqui poop?”
“How was it?”
“Was it a good poop?”
“How many chorizos exactly?”
“Balls or logs?”
“How much did it weigh?”
“Were there any worms?”
“Where did he go poop?”
“Where did you throw it away?”
“Did you throw it away like normal people or try to shoot it into the can from twenty feet away?”
“Were people watching?”
“Was his poop something to be proud of?”
“And the consistency? Like pudding? Fudge?”
“How was your poop this morning?”
“Do you think you need to eat more fiber?”
“Have I told you about my poop?”
“Two trains are traveling from Sacramento to Los Angeles. The first train is going sixty miles per hour and has twenty-five tons of poop on board. The second train is going seventy-five miles per hour, has fifty pounds of poop, but has one stop in Stockton. Which train of poop arrives first?”
Come to think of it, I’m much more fascinated with my wife than Chiqui.
Spaniards are very expressive. I know first-hand, I married one. They talk passionately about their country, their culture, their history, their fútbol (soccer), just about anything. They are amazing creatures and I am fascinated and in love with all forty-seven million of them. But you can’t take everything they say literally, or you will get very confused. Here’s a conversation between two Spanish people on the phone. This is my literal translation of their conversation from Spanish to English. After the dialogue, you can see what they really meant.
Julita: Hey Boss, I can’t come in to work today. I have a very important bikini wax appointment.
Paco: I crap in the milk.
Julita. I’m really sorry.
Paco: Please don’t do this to me today. Not today!
Julita: My boyfriend and I have been getting very intimate lately and I think we are going to finally throw some dust.
Paco: I crap in the milk.
Julita: I want everything to be smooth, in case there are flies.
Paco: You don’t have hair on your tongue.
Julita: Just thinking of him gets me so hot.
Paco: That’s as important to me as a bell pepper. If you don’t get your ass in here, you are going to pay the duck. Do you hear me? I am the one cutting the cod fish!
Julita: I need a day off!
Paco: Don’t touch my eggs!
Julita: I’m not coming in.
Paco: I crap in the milk.
Julita: I may not come in tomorrow either.
Paco: You are like a goat.
Julita: Me? You are like a garden watering can! I quit!
Paco: I crap in the milk.
Julita: I didn’t want it to end like this.
Paco: And a ham! You probably had this planned.
Julita: Go fry asparagus!
Paco: Go get a blood sausage!
The meaning of it all.
Spanish Expression: I crap in the milk. American Equivalent: Shit!
Spanish Expression: To throw some dust. American Equivalent: Have sex.
Spanish Expression: In case there are flies. American Equivalent: Just in case.
Spanish Expression: You don’t have hair on your tongue. American Equivalent: You speak your mind.
Spanish Expression: That’s as important to me as a bell pepper. American Equivalent: I don’t give a shit
Spanish Expression: You’re going to pay the duck American Equivalent: You will suffer the consequences
Spanish Expression: I am the one cutting the cod fish! American Equivalent: I’m the boss!
Spanish Expression: Don’t touch my eggs! American Equivalent: You’re annoying me!
Spanish Expression: You are like a goat or a garden watering can American Equivalent: You’re crazy!
Spanish Expression: And a ham! American Equivalent: Yeah right!
Spanish Expression: Go fry asparagus! American Equivalent:: Go to hell!
Spanish Expression: Go get a blood sausage! American Equivalent: Fuck you!
WELCOME TO MY FIRST PODCAST! I am excited to present to you my very first podcast. It also happens to be the first short story that I wrote. My plan is to record one of my short stories every now and then. I’ll post them here on my blog and in iTunes. How cool!