2nd ANNIVERSARY

Well good golly, I don't know how I did it but I totally missed the 2nd Anniversary of the Dust Bunny Club of North America last month.  I began this journal on March 18, 2004 and have been sharing my hit-or-miss wit and wisdom, whether you need and want it or not, ever since.  To date I have posted 744 entries (not including this one of course), and received over 5,000 comments.  My hit counter reset during the early part of March but had exceeded 40,000 hits by then, and I swear, they weren't all from me.  Okay, perhaps most of them were, but I know for a fact that Dickidoo checks my blog fairly regularly to see what kind of damage I've done to his reputation lately so that accounts for some.

For those readers who have shared my goofy life, accepted my wacky ways, cheered and jeered the Oompas and Dickidoo, offered support and/or prayers for my son in Iraq and have not been totally disgusted or offended by some of my subject matter, thank you for being part of this all.  For those of you who can relate to some of the situations I find myself in, thank you for the reassurance that I am not alone. 

To all of my friends and family, old and new, I offer this blessing:  May the dust bunnies be your friends in lonely times, and know when to remain hidden when company comes calling! 

And for the two nasty readers who felt compelled to leave hateful comments:  May you be blessed with a lifetime of abundant, spontaneous, musical and fragrant flatulations! 

THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN A WARNING LABEL!

Part II

Commercial freezers are set at a much lower temperture than home freezers.  MUCH lower!  And it takes a little while for a frozen item to adjust to the warmer temperature of a home freezer.   Sometimes some items take MUCH longer than others.  I learned this the hard way yesterday.

It was lunch time and I had to rush home to pick Zack up and take him back to work.  After banging on his door, I remembered that I had a box of fudge pops in the freezer.  I love Fudgsicles but learned a long time ago not to stick one into my mouth immediately after buying them.  I always wait and let the frozen confection warm up a little bit.  I thought 18 hours in my freezer was long enough.

I thought wrong.

I realized my mistake almost immediately upon inserting the icy stick of frozen goodness into my mouth... and the tender inner skin of my upper and lower lips instantly adhered to its surface.  My first instinct was to pull the popsicle out but deja vu screamed out a warning.  My lips might be numb now from the cold and I might not feel the pain as the skin that was frozen to the artificially flavored, skin-eating missile of doom is ripped from my mouth but I would surely feel it once the area thawed.

So I proceeded to curse as best I could with my lips glued together, the Popsicle wagging and emphasizing each syllable in a way that my lips in their current condition could not.  My tongue almost latched on the the frozen pop as well and I quickly covered it with saliva and continued my rant.

I don't know how long I had to wait for the heat of my lips to finally cause the bond to break.  It may have been seconds, it might have been minutes, it felt like hours but as soon as I felt it give a little I yanked the ice cream out of my mouth, swallowed my collecting saliva and crowed triumphantly... Too soon!  When I returned the pop to my mouth to bite the offending top off, it adhered once again to my lips.  Right back where I started from.

Agh!  I hate when that happens!

Needless to say, if any of the kids had been around at the time I would have had to turn over about $5 to the cuss and fuss fund.  I finally finished my Fudgsicle without further incident, but man, they really need to put warning labels on those things!

I can still feel the sting on my inner lips now, a day later. 

THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN A WARNING LABEL! (Part I) 

EYEBROW SHAPING: grooming or masochism?

Today is another day off from work, so I trimmed my eye brows.  I learned a few years back never to pluck my eye brows before work or any other outing.  The last time I did, everyone asked me if I had done my brows.  I walked around feeling good about the trim, but a little disappointed that the change was so drastic that everyone felt compelled to make mention of it, until a visit to the ladies room revealed the reason for their comments.

The area that I had plucked had become swollen from the trauma of forced hair-removal.  And because I have a growth of fine hair covering my entire face, the plucked area, now devoid of the thick over growth, lay exposed, pale and splotchy against my otherwise darkly tanned face.  I looked like Peking Man's sister!

So anyhow, now days when I pluck my brows, it is done on a day when I won't be going out into the public, such as today, to give my face a little healing time.  Another problem I face is that once I start plucking and shape my brow... where do I stop plucking?  I can shape my brow with no problem but there will always be a bald patch surrounding my perfectly shaped arches, sans the hair-bridge that once joined them.  To say that I look like a panda bear is a harsh but apt analogy.

This morning I worked tirelessly on the plucking and shaping, and then trimming.  Once again the vanity sink was buried in hair clippings.  The roots from the lone white hair growing in my right eyebrow had gotten so long that they reached clear down to my sinuses and triggered a flash flood from my nose when I tried to pluck the stubborn hair. 

So here I sit with swollen brow, drippy nose and an uncontrollable twitch in my right eye as it slowly tries to recover from the trauma it had so recently endured during my vani-cure and I can't help but wonder why I do this to myself.  Why do I torture my body in such a way?  Is it for me?  No!  I'm quite happy with my unibrow, which doubles as a shade on bright sunny days.  For Dickidoo?  His unibrow is thicker than mine, and he has NEVER plucked it for me.  For others around me?  Well, it will take more than the removal of facial hair to make my profile more eye-friendly so no... my meager attempts at facial grooming does not benefit those around me either.

That settles it, I'm hanging up my tweezer/ suture needle holder and returning it to the fishing tackle box where it belongs.  No more eyebrow torture for me!  Goodbye eye-art, hello unibrow!

 

ITS ABOUT 'OOMPA TIME'!

This is Zack showing off a few of his wrist watches.  He's been collecting them from the crane machine where he spends his break time and $$$ scooping up trinkets.  He has won approximately 12 wristwatches with alarms, plus 3 pocket watches.  Having that many time pieces should make him the most punctual person on the planet, but that is not the case.  None of the watches tell the same time, and all of the alarms go off at different times so there is always a buzzer or a beeper going off somewhere.  And Zack is ALWAYS late.

The other siblings aren't much better.  Rocky is content so long as she is not the last name on the tardy list.  There is an unspoken rule that makes being tardy okay if you are not the 'tardiest'.  Rocky will drag her feet all morning, right up to she gets to the school grounds. But if another student is getting out of their car at the same time, suddenly its a race to reach the entrance first.  Rocky almost always has a disadvantage because she must haul her snare drum and xylephone to school which weighs almost as much as she does but the fear of being the very last student through the doors gives her little feet wings.  I wish she could move that fast at home.

Becca and Art are very conscientious about being on time for school.   Everything else, however, is done in half hour increments, even the simplest of tasks.  There are no minute or second hands on their internal clock.  It takes a half hour to sign off of the computer or take out the trash.  It takes an hour to shower.  It takes them an hour to get ready for bed.  Sending them to bed an hour earlier only means that it will then take two hours to get ready for bed.  Naturally the extra time spent on a chore has absolutely nothing to do with the quality of work put into it.  Chances are they will dawdle around until the very last minute before they actually do the deed and then do a shoddy job just to get it done and over with.  (hmmmm, where I have heard that scenario before?)

So what exactly is'oompa time' ?  Quite simply, I would have to saywhat I say each and every time my children finally complete a task. 

"Well, its about time !"

'Oompa Time' is about time. (which should not be confused with dickidoo or boobidoo time... those fall under completely separate and totally different time zones!)

THE START OF A PERFECTLY PERFECT DAY

Dickidoo kept trying to wake me up this morning, but today I don't start work until 10:15 and I wasn't budging one second sooner than I had to.  My bladder was about to burst but it would have to wait.  It was 9:00 before I got up.  Hmmmm... don't know how my clothes got all undone like that.

Ugh!  Wonderful, no toilet paper.

Tried to kick Becca off the computer so I could check my email to see if there was any news from Gabe.  It took her 15 minutes to sign out of everything.  She does the typical 'lol' stuff, but embellishes it with '(gasps)', and '(sighs)', and goes on to describe EVERYTHING she isn't really doing, such as 'runs around room and eats a doughnut' or something equally inane.  I guess my age is showing because I don't get it.  When I have to sign off, I just... sign off!  Takes all of one second. (sighs and shakes head, takes a swig of hazelnut laced coffee to clear head and better understand the juveniles oompas).

No turkeys yet, at least not the wild, feathered type.  The gang will probably try again this afternoon.   The turkey are out, they just weren't responding to the calls yesterday.  Our friend was marveling on how good Dickidoo was at imitating turkey calls, so I had to explain to him that English is actually Dickidoo's second language and Turkey is his native tongue.  That alone should explain a whole mess of things, like how Dickidoo planned on taking pictures yesterday with just the camera lenses!
34 Days And A Wake Up!

LET THE COUNTDOWN BEGIN!

I got an email from Gabe this morning.  He has gotten confirmation on his leave and the date is May 15th!  It will take another 3 to 5 days after that to get home, but at least he will be out of Iraq soon.  Let the countdown begin!

Spring turkey season began this morning.  Rocky went with Art, their dad and friend Bert to get us some turkey.  Steve didn't buy a tag so he could concentrate on coaching the kids.  And of course he would capture the hopefully successful hunt on camera.  They've been out there since before sun up. I wonder how many pictures he got.  Probably not too many being as he grabbed the camera bag but forgot to check to make sure the camera was inside.  (those extra lenses sure are heavy!  ).

New pictures are posted on Dickidoo's photo journal: PAPARRAZI BY PROXY.  Just to clarify things, all of the pictures are Dickidoo originals, I just post them and add a little information on the subject.  As much as it grieves me to admit this... some of his pictures are pretty good... So good in fact that he really should consider investing in a camera of his own.  Or buy his wife the neat-o-wow D200 at which time she would gladly relinquish custody of the D70 to him.  (hint, hint!)

I set up the coffee pot for the guys last night before I went to bed so all they had to do was pour the water into the Bunn-Omatic Brew-Omatic and a minute later they could have hot, steaming coffee.  How thoughtful of them to leave the pot on so that I could have hot coffee waiting for me when I woke up.  Unfortunately that was not to be for another 4 hours.  What remained in the pot was as thick as crude oil!  They even saved me the last bit of hazelnut creamer but the coffee was so thick the creamer barely even lightened its color.  I added some water to the mixture... it didn't help.  But man, what a pick-me-upper!  That one cup of coffee should keep me going all day!  Yehaw!

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WHY?

There is not much more irritating than a child who constantly inquires 'why?' and follows the answer up with another more irritating 'why?'.  Being a 'why?' child myself did not make raising 5 inquisitive children of my own any easier.  It has however given me insight into the 'whys' and 'wherefores' as an adult and for the most part I can pretty much figure things out on my own.

With one exception. 

Bleach.

Bleach will clean stains off of clothes.  It whitens whites and brightens brights.  It removes stains from counters and floors.  It even removes color from clothes when accidentally splashed on clothing.

So why oh why when it is used to remove dirt and grime from the floor or counters.... why does it transfer the stain to the cloth used to wipe it up, which in turn becomes permanently stained?  Shouldn't it just rinse right off the cloth with water?  After all, it is saturated with bleach.   Shouldn't you, at the very least, be able to bleach the stain out with more bleach?  It just doesn't make any sense.  I love to use Clorox Clean-up to clean my floors with, but I can pretty much kiss anything I use in the process goodbye because the towels and even my clothing, become hopelessly stained by the bleach-soaked grime. 

Why?

? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?

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COCA COLA BLEK

I tried that new Coke yesterday, Coca Cola BlāK.  You know the one, with a shot of coffee?  My conclusion.... there's a lot of things that taste good in Coke, like Bacardi for instance.  But coffee?  Nope!  Do you folks remember the New Coke some years back?  That was a dud, and this BlāK blek isn't much better.  I even tried dressing it up with a little rum, kind of like a Black Russian but that turned out to be a complete waste of alcohol.

Everyone is starting to put fruits and other flavors in their sodas.  Cherry Coke (hey, isn't that what Dr. Pepper is basically?)  Berry Vanilla Dr. Pepper (huh?), Lime Pepsi, Fruit 7-Up.  

And that's not the only thing that is crossing over into other flavors.  Have you tried Dill Pickle potato chips?  Fish tacos?  Green tea chewing gum.  Are we as a society really that bored with our current standard flavors that we have to go inventing new ones just so we have something new to try and dislike?  Cattle were happy for centuries eating the same old grass flavored grass.  Then humans come along, mixed up a batch of special cow-chow complete with high protein additives like ground up cow by products and shazaam!  We've just invented Mad Cow!  I for one am not afraid to admit that when it comes to food, 'good' is  good enough for me.  I don't need 'new and improved' if the product was good to begin with.

I love Coke, I love coffee, but I don't like BlāK.  Sorry Coke, but you should just stick to The Real Thing.  Leave the coffee to Starbucks.

THAT DASTARDLY DICKIDOO!

I'm not sure, but I think I just got 'had'.

Dickidoo wanted to use my camera this morning.  I said being as I had the day off, I was planning on using it myself.  He suggested that I could come to his work place and pick it up later in the morning.  With gas prices being what they are, I agreed but on the condition that he buy me lunch.

So far the plan was actually equally beneficial.  He got the camera, and had lunch delivered to him.  I got a meal out of it.

But Dickidoo over slept this morning and the sun was already on the rise before he rolled out of bed.  He had missed the photo opportunity he had hoped to get of the turkeys in their roost trees at sunrise.  Great!  So I would get the camera all morning!

That was about the time Dickidoo realized that today was my payday.  Since he only had a half hour for lunch, and it was my payday, he suggested that I bring him lunch.  Without even thinking (and because he did just invest in some Journey and Def Leppard tickets for us), I agreed.  And... since my morning was going to be fragmented when I ran his lunch out to him  I suggested that he go ahead and take the camera because I didn't want to go out on a shoot and only have an hour before I had to get lunch....

Sooooooo.... HE has the camera all morning, I buy HIS lunch and drive it to HIM using MY gas... Yeah, I got had! 

Agh!  I hate when that happens.

GOING POSTAL

I went to the post office yesterday to mail a package to Gabe.  There was a spring in my step and my box rattled of colorful jelly beans and crisply wrapped chocolate rabbits, cradled gently by a fluffy Easter Bunny dressed in a camouflage shirt and matching hat.  A card signed with love from all of the members of the family was placed in the box before it was carefully sealed.  Gabe was thousands of miles away in a land that doesn't observe our holidays and traditions so we were sending the holiday to him.  

I love the people at my post office, but I'm beginning to think the feeling is not mutual.  I swear to goodness golly that every time I step into that building, they look up at me and close down a counter.  It never fails... each and every dagnammit time I go there, I walk in the door, they see me and poof!  Break time!  Yesterday there were 3 clerks, and the line was almost out the door.  I step in, they smile and then there are only 2 clerks.  After waiting 30 minutes (yes, I timed it because they have a clock right there), and only 4 customers had been served since my arrival,  I gave up and relinquished my place in line so I could get back to work. 

This morning there were two clerks and two people in line.  The postal employees smiled and I dared them to leave the counter.  When it was my turn, I took the box I had so carefully wrapped and dropped it on the counter in triumphant determination.  The contents no longer rattled and crinkled but instead made a somewhat soggy thud.  I think I even caught the faint aroma of fruity chocolate.  The Easter candy had no doubt succumbed to the heat of the truck. 

"Are you a commercial shipper?" the clerk asks me.

"Yes, its just a coincident that my last name and my customer's last name are the same."

"Any liquids or perishables?" she asked automatically.

"I think the chocolate may have melted while I was waiting yesterday, but I'm sure the stuffed bunny will have soaked it up."

"This will take about 2weeks for delivery." she informs me.

"Two weeks and one day... I was here yesterday but you took your break when I walked in so I couldn't mail it then."

I hope Gabe can salvage something from the gooey mess that was to be his Easter basket.  And I hope he gets it on time.  His camp's mail-call is pretty good about deliveries.  They know how important mail is for the troops and even made deliveries on Christmas last year.

As for my post office folk, I love them, I really do.  I just wish they would get it out of their minds that I'm some kind of break announcer.  Keep the dang lines open when I come in, sheesh!  Work with me here people, I've got a son to send bits and pieces of home to.  Can I get a little bit of cooperation... please?

Give a Hill Billy a little technology and what do you get?

Something to laugh about!  Hahahahaha!
Dickidoo has a bachelor's degree in business management.  He didn't get it from Sally Struthers in exchange for a doughnut, he actually had to earn it.  He has a laptop and he knows how to use it!  He's the fastest 2-finger typist I know.  And see there clipped on to his waist... its a cell phone.  You can't see the other one but he has two cell phones... one for the family, and one for work.  Yesterday I asked him for the number to his work phone so our son Gabe would have another option if he ever needed to get in touch with us.  And so I waited, and waited, and waited for Dickidoo as he poked around on his fancy schmancy government cell phone trying to figure out what his number was.  When it became too much for me to bear I suggested that he just call his other cell phone from his work phone and he could copy the number down when it appeared in the incoming call screen. 

So now I'm wondering how he gives people at work his number,  "Huh... I don't quite know my number yet so if you give me your number I can call you and you can just save my phone number that way..."   Maybe I should pin it to his shirt like I did with the kids when they first started school and needed to memorize their phone number.  "Hi, my name is Dickidoo, I live here and this is my phone number"

One of the neat things about being married for as long as we have been is that sometimes we don't even need to speak because we know what the other is thinking.  Dickidoo is always telling me to 'Shut up!' even when I don't say a word!  Last night was one of those times.  Unfortunately he doesn't always specify how long I should shut up for.  Silly man should have known I would repeat the story here!  Hehehehehe!

!@#$% DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME!

Good golly, as if I don't have little enough fricken time in my life to procrastinate with, someone had to come up with the stupid idea of Daylight Savings Time.

Dumb:  Hey, lets have everyone in the whole fricken country set their clocks forward one hour so they have more daylight to do stuff in!

Dumber:  Yeah, great idea!

NO!  That is such 'not a great idea'!  Falling behind in the fall is cool because I get to sleep in for an extra hour, but this springing forward plan really sucks.  My computer reset itself at some point when I was online after work last night (or this morning, when ever, what ever!) and I completely freaked when I saw the time, thinking it was later than it actually was.  Unfortunately none of the other clocks were set forward so after I went to bed I spent all the whole time peeking out of one eye at the clock trying to figure out just exactly when I was supposed to get up to be at work on time.

My faithful Anniversary clock never got set back last fall.  I look to it for the right time.  Its chime is still off key because the battery is close to dead, but nobody touches that clock.  It waits for Gabe to return to replace the battery. 

I HATE DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME!

Only 210 days until I get my hour of sleep and procrastination back.... Woo hoo!

QUESTION OF THE DAY

Question:  Who designed the human body?

Answer:  The human body was designed by a civil engineer. Who else would run a toxic waste pipeline through a recreational area?  (author unknown) 

My recreational area is currently off limits due to  scheduled monthly maintenance and biohazard disposal.  The one and only lifetime member of the resort is however forbidden to patronize other resorts at this time or risk losing all gold-club-member privileges (and possibly some of the member's own recreational equipment!)

THE ART OF PROCRASTINATION

Procrastination is not a weakness of willpower.  It is an accomplished skill.  Not everyone can wait until the last minute and then do in 1 hour what most people need 72 hours to accomplish... and still manage to do a good job in the process.  Some people might counter the practice by insinuating that the procrastinator might actually be able to do a better job if they were to spend more time on the job.  That is a subjective assumption that cannot be proven.   What can be proven is that if one were to spend less time on a project, one has more time for other projects, such as practising a healthy antioxidant lifestyle that includes a previously blogged about diet of beer, coffee, beans and potatoes!

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HEALTH FREAK MOTIVATIONAL SPEECH

I have decided that maintaining my healthier antioxidant rich diet of coffee, beer, beans and potatoes is not helping my weight and there fore I can only conclude that an ample girth is in actuality a sign of a healthy intake of antioxidants.  I may have a keg shaped ab rather than a tight sleek six-pack, my pecks may be puffy and puckered, I may be a little high strung and make funny noises when you pull my finger, but I'm healthy dang it!  I'm antioxidant-a-licious, don't hate me for it.

By the way, I just read that hazelnuts are also rich in antioxidants.  Hazelnut happens to be my favorite coffee creamer flavor.  This is great, who would have thought healthy eating could taste sooo good!

EAT YOUR HEART OUT PICASSO!

Move over Monet.  Sorry Dali!   Dornbrau is in the house!  To see how this dust bunny was created, click here: ART.COM .  You can also create your own masterpiece and check out some other artists works.  Have fun!  (Thanks Rocky for the awesome link!)

THINGS THAT MAKE YOU GO 'EWWWW', (con't)

I work in the retail industry (translation: I'm a cashier at a grocery/general merchandise store) and scan hundreds and thousands of items each work day.  I'm not the most observant person in the world.  In fact my power of observation pretty much sucks.  But today while scanning the endless stream of products that came down my conveyer belt, two items in particular caught my somewhat warped attention.

Quick Dissolving Toilet Tissue (for RV's and campers).  Did I read that right?  Quick dissolving toilet paper?  Good golly, I don't want quick dissolving nothing!  I don't need some thin single ply biodegradable tissue that will disintergrate in my hands mid-wipe!  I need to know that my toilet paper is going to handle the toughest of jobs for as long as it takes!  No thank you, I'll pass in favor of Ultra Charmin which has been known to clog the sewer line for years.  I may have to pull out the plunger 2x a month, but by golly, my hands are clean!

Disposable Feminine Douche.  Okay, disposable, as compared to what... non-disposable douche?  Is there a barrel set up at the hazardous waste dumping site for all the non-disposable douche, right next to the barrels for used antifreeze and automotive oil?  

I think I'm going to stop reading labels.  They are getting too disturbing.

And for the record, I'm not making these up.  Go to the feminine hygiene and Sporting Goods sections of any store and see for yourself.... if you dare!

HERE COMES THE GIRL IN BLACK!

I'd like to take this time to toot my mommy horn.  Rocky had a 'Rhythmic Dancing' program today and the 6th graders performed a line dance to the song 'Men in Black'.  Being the ham that she is, Rocky whipped out her shades when the number was announced and she preceded to steal the show.  I can't begin to describe the pride I felt as all of the parents in the cafeteria watched her instead of their own children... Except for me of course, I was watching my child and that girl can dance!

DICKIDOO AND THE GREAT BOURBON HEIST

During a recent trip to Pueblo, Dickidoo and I came across an unattended Jack Daniel's delivery truck.  Jack Daniel's, by the way, just happens to be one of Dickidoo's favorite beverages so he just had to go in for a closer look.  I don't know why but for some reason I could have sworn I heard the theme song for Mission Impossible playing somewhere in the background.

Can you say 'BUSTED!'?  I suppose I could have warned him, but I was laughing too hard.  I can almost imagine the dialog:

Jack Daniel's Dude:  "Can I help you?"

Dickidoo:  "Nice truck."

Jack Daniel's Dude:  "Thank you"

Dickidoo:  "I have a Hemi"

Jack Daniel's Dude:  "Thats nice."

Dickidoo:  "I'll trade you!"

Jack Daniel's Dude:  "No thank you.  This truck has a Hemi too, and its full of bourbon!"

Hahahaha!  Ohohohohohohohohohoh!  Heeeeeheeeeheeeeheee!

Poor Dickidoo!

By the way:  new pictures posted in Dickidoo's photo blog, check them out:  PAPARRAZI  BY  PROXY

WHEN TOILETS ATTACK!

What I hate worse than public restrooms are public restrooms that have automatic flushers.  Those things have mind of their own.  Sometimes they flush, sometimes they don't.  It all depends on how they feel at the time.  The other day the toilet flushed as soon as I opened the door to go into the stall.  I guess there's a limit of one flush per entry because when I finished doing what I had to do, the dang thing wouldn't flush.  I opened and shut the door, I waved my hand in front of the sensor.  I even stepped out of the stall then stepped back in.  I finally had to resort to pushing the manual flush button.  Stupid machine.

And lets face it, it IS a machine.  Its 2006 and we have finally achieved technological greatness... we pee in a machine!  It wasn't that long ago that our ancestors were peeing in holes in the ground, but we have a motion activated machine to deposit our turds in!

Unfortunately it is the nature of machines to screw up.  I guess that by the time I entered the stall yesterday, that particular machine had just about its fill of gluteous maximuses planting themselves on it.  And half way through my session it apparently decided that I had been there long enough and that my time was up.  It flushed!  And not gently either.  It was like a deluge of water whirling and splashing, the force threatening to suck me in to the swirling abyss.  My bottom was soaked!  I felt like I had just shot with a fire hose disguised as a bidet.

And wouldn't you know, both rolls of toilet paper in the dispenser were empty.  I was obviously not the only victim of this vendictive contraption.  Cussing and fussing, I had to improvise with a crisp, abrasive toiletseat liner.  And yes, I had to push the manual flush button because I had already used my one flush.  You know, I could almost swear that I hear that dang toilet laughing as I exited the stall.  Did it say 'Next!' or was that just my imagination?

There is a  place for technology and the restroom isn't it!  Give me an old fashioned potty any day.... Please!  I want my Kohler back!