This past week I had the pleasure of moving. Now this move was most certainly a step up as I left the halfway house I was living in and moved to my own actual house. This is actually the first time I’ve had a place since April of 2006 when I went to rehab for the first time. Since then I’ve either been in rehab, in a halfway house, in detox, in the mental ward, or living in hotels or motels in between two of those. There have been good times and bad times of course, but this is definitely a step up.

Its not totally my house as I’m living with two friends of mine, but as anyone who knows me can imagine, I totally run the joint. At least in my own mind. Its nice though and we’ve even got a pool. Which I’ve been planning to go in all week, but just haven’t for some reason. I don’t know if its a lack of motivation, but it might be. So if any hot girls out there feel like going for a swim, feel free to just stop by in your bikini and I won’t have a choice but to join you.

I really hope this thing works out and runs smoothly though because one thing I can assure you is that moving is pure hell. I didn’t even have much to move, but it was still just a complete nightmare. Let me tell you that tempers flare and no one involved in a move is very fun to be around. Its just that the problems just seem to multiply exponentially out of nowhere. Oddly enough, my boss at work was also moving during the same time period. Let me just tell you that the office wasn’t exactly a giant happy fest this past week. Ironically my other boss spent the week down at Fantasy Fest in Key West, which IS a giant happy fest.

I was walking into a great situation this time as one of my friends, was already living in the house and he just let  me and my other buddy move on in. This means that we didn’t have to come up with first, last, security or any of that deal. Now I had a little bit of money and I figured that wow this was great now I can use this money for useful items like a PS3 to replace the one that I pawned, twice, or a nice gambling relapse down at the Kennel Club. Good thing I didn’t succumb to either of those two temptations though because that money poofed itself away in quite a hurray without my assistance. Do you have any idea how much curtains cost? Well, I sure didn’t and those fuckers are insanely expensive. Throw in a steam cleaning for the couch that we were graciously given, a little repair on the ice-maker, and the girl I hired to clean the kitchen and bathroom. Bang, PS3 say bye bye.

Out of all that money I think the girl to clean the bathroom and the kitchen might have been the best investment. You might be thinking, but Frank, your lazy ass could have done that one yourself. Your right, and I could have built my own curtains and I could have googled how to fix an ice-maker and maybe figured that out too; but we hire professionals for a reason. Its like having a criminal defense lawyer, now it might have been super fun to see crazy ass Robert Blake defend himself in that murder trial, but I don’t think he would’ve gotten off like he did with those superstar lawyers. Hire the right people and you can get away with almost anything, ain’t that right OJ.

I digress though, the reason that the cleaning lady was such an excellent hire was that not only did she do a fantastic job, but it was quite entertaining as well. This wasn’t just some cleaning lady that you find in the yellow pages, as they are all fat and disgusting, but rather it was just a friend of mine that wanted the job. She came over on Sunday and cleaned up while I sat and watched the Dolphins beat the Jets. Now this girl is definitely a cutie and man it was like some male fantasy world at work over here. Me sitting on the couch, one eye on the game, one eye on this nice ass cleaning my sliding glass door. Eat your heart out Tim Allen.

Its been over a week now, and I’d say we’re pretty much moved in. There’s sill a box or two laying around, we got a small TV hooked up while the big TV sits idle cause we still haven’t figured out the proper placement and then wire running needs. All in all though we’re pretty dam close. There is an ongoing battle over what exactly gets hung on the walls. Anyone who knows me knows that I’d love to cover every single inch of the walls with a mix of Cory Lopez shredding at Pipe, Paris Hilton, and Tim Tebow running over defenders, but my roommates don’t seem to be of the same elevated thinking. One described my decorating style as “angry 13 year old girl”. They seem to be content with us living surrounded by white walls like we’re on the set of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

Hopefully some happy medium will be reached. I wanted to hang up my personalized autographed photo of Burt Reynolds above the toilet.  It reads “To Frankie, your friend, Burt Reynolds”, yeah we’re tight. I was  told that was gay because who wants to be holding their dick and staring at Burt Reynolds on a regular basis. Then today though I walk in and there’s a picture of some carpenter above the toilet. Like Burt’s creepy, but Jesus is okay, what the fuck. Does that mean that I can go and hang Bob Villa on the opposite wall, after all he is a Gator at least.

Sincerely though I hope I stay here for an extended period of time. Hopefully my next move will be into my own house with whatever attractive blonde I decide to raise the future University of Florida QB with. I had one picked out but she seems to have this small ongoing conflict which causes situations of her not being able to stop shooting dope, its been a little speed bump in my plan. I honestly hope too that when the day of the next move does happen either I’ve raised enough money or even better she’s so independently wealthy that I can just firebomb all my old stuff and get all new stuff for my place. I don’t ever want to do the moving crap again.

Now when it comes down to picking your favorite holiday, it’s certainly a tough choice. Everyone has it’s own pros and cons. Your favorite changes too as you grow older. When your a kid, of course your favorite is going to be Christmas. That one’s a no brainer for little kids. You get a whole lot of gifts and that’s hard to beat. I think all kids are selfish and materialistic at heart so they love that one.

As you get older though you realize that Christmas actually isn’t that great. I don’t know exactly when the point is, but eventually you are expected to actually get gifts for other people too. I always seem to come out on the short end of Christmas these days. I of course get people awesome, thoughtful things and then I just end up with a bunch of shitty socks and sweaters. It’s really a waste. Instead of everyone taking their money and just buying things they want, we’re instead forced to try and pick things out for other people and pray to god that they either pick out equally good or equally shitty stuff for us. It sucks when you pick out something awesome for somebody and then get a crap gift in return. It’s equally sucky when you pick something crappy for someone and then they go out and get you something that’s just awesome. It’s really hard to achieve mutual symmetry in gift giving. It’s like achieving orgasm at the same time, it can happen but it’s a long shot and you’d probably both be better off taking care of yourselves.

Thanksgiving is a holiday that I dreaded when I was a little kid. First off there’s no gifts and I was never a big fan of Turkey. I’m still not that big on Thanksgiving, but at least it’s bearable. Everyone just gets together to pig out and then lays around on the couch half asleep watching football. Nothing too exciting, but its low stress and that’s nothing to sneeze at these days.

New Year’s is pretty cool when you get older and can enjoy some nice drunken revelry, but it never really did it for me. I guess cause I was too much of an alcoholic and drug addict to really appreciate it. New Year’s is just like amateur hour out there as people that aren’t used to it party their asses off. To someone like me, it might as well be a Tuesday night. So all New Years meant was it being more crowded and things being more expensive, two things I can do without.

These days my favorite holiday has to be Halloween. It’s really the only holiday that everyone can appreciate. When your a little kid it rocks cause you just get to stroll around house to house and people just give you candy. You don’t even have to do anything, you just knock, say trick or treat, and bang…. candy. It doesn’t work any other day of the year. Your expected to wear a costume of some sort, but that can really be anything. In fact I think a shitty costume even works better cause then they just think your too poor to afford a good costume so they feel sorry for you and give you even more candy. Ah, look at that poor kid, he can’t even afford a mask, well, it’ll be all right, go drown your sorrows in some mini Butterfingers.

I remember one year for Halloween when I was in 5th grade or thereabouts, I actually went as a drug dealer. I put on these black cargo pants, an LA Lakers Magic Johnson shirt, some gold chains, and some sunglasses. I guess that was my idea of drug dealer wear back then. I then went and filled a bunch of zip-loc bags with sugar. Its funny that no one could tell that I might not be headed down the straight arrow path.

The great thing about Halloween is that it doesn’t lose its appeal as you get older like a lot of the other holidays do. I still absolutely love Halloween. Albeit for different reasons now. The reason I love Halloween now is because it gives girls an excuse to dress like complete sluts and call it a costume. Even the most normal conservative girl lets it all hang out on Halloween. You don’t even need a costume, you can just do straight up slut. However, if you want to really get in the dress up spirit your options are endless. There’s slutty nurse, slutty policewoman, slutty doctor, slutty schoolgirl, slutty teacher, slutty sailor, slutty football ref, slutty golfer…. the world is your oyster girls.

In case you haven’t noticed you just take slutty and put it in front of anything and it’s a great costume for Halloween. I mean come on, how can anyone not love a holiday like that. It’s coming up in a week and I can’t wait. Its really the best party to have because its your best chance at having a house full of sluts, and really isn’t that the point of any party. Girls can even forget all their worries and inhibitions too, after all they are just playing a role. So go ahead and throw a Halloween party and watch the amazing parade of sluts in “costumes” some rolling on through. The only way you could have a better collection is if you decided to throw a Rock of Love theme party. Save that one for November!

As anyone knows that is my friend on Facebook, and if your on Facebook and not my friend then you might as well just take a sledgehammer to your life because it is totally unfulfilled, I spend quite a bit of time at my gym, Planet Fitness. I’ve cranked up my workout regime pretty good over the past couple months and I think its starting to pay dividends. All I really want is simply to look good naked, I think that’s all anyone who goes to the gym wants if you really get down to it. All the other stuff they claim is simply bullshit.

I usually hit the machines and then do some cardio. Sometimes I brave the StairMaster and let me tell you that sucker is brutal. That thing kicks my ass like no other. I do it at a good clip, but I can’t do more than 10 minutes on that dam thing. Even then for the last couple minutes I’m basically hanging on for dear life. The StairMaster at Planet Fitness is also situated right in the front corner, so my big fear as I hang on is that one day I’m going to take a tumble and go right through the big front glass window. That would be a bummer, cause I’d like totally have to find a new gym.

The StairMaster is merely occasional though, my cardio method of choice is the bike. I don’t ride those pussy ass old people recliner bikes either. I use the sit up, Lance Armstrong style bike. There’s only 3 of them at my Planet Fitness, I prefer the southern most one, after that its the one in the middle, the northern one I swear has a hitch in it. I usually do anywhere from 5-10 miles on that sucker, as of right now, at 10 or 12 resistance. The main thing though that seems to limit my time on the bike, is not that I get tired, its that I just get too fuckin bored sitting there and can’t take it anymore.

Of course I try and do things to alleviate the boredom. Of course I always have my phone and I Facebook, Twitter, and read articles on ESPN, but that can only get me so far. Sometimes I try and watch the TVs they got over us, but since there’s only 3 of the bikes I like there’s not much of a selection. The TV straight ahead is the FoxNews one. I don’t know if its God’s sense of humor or what, but I can not stand FoxNews. Fair and balanced, haha, who the fuck are those bastards kidding. As someone who went to school for Journalism, that channel is just like being slapped in the face with big black cock. If you don’t know what I’m talking about go out and get the great 2004 documentary by Robert Greenwald, “Outfoxed: Rupert Murdoch’s War on Journalism”.

The thing that works the best for me to fill the time, is picking up the phone and calling some people. Unfortunately, I tend to go to the gym mad early before I go to work, so the choice of people I can call is extremely limited. When I do talk to someone, I find that its fantastic for my workout. It takes my mind completely off the fact that I’m riding the bike, and time plus distance fly by without  me even knowing it.

This past week though an interesting turn of events occurred that has potentially scared me off from ever picking up that phone while on the bike again.

It all begins with one day while totally killing it on the bike, I decided to pick up the phone and call my ex, we’ll call her LITTLE MIS CAN’T BE WRONG. Its quite ironic that while being inspired to ride like Lance Armstrong, I would exhibit behavior that required such balls. Its as if God had taken the one nut he was missing and transferred it to me.

So backed by the power of having 1 and a half set of balls, I picked up the phone. We proceeded to have a very civil and fun conversation. I then started talking to her about a current situation I has having with a girl. Don’t ask me why but I think I honestly just wanted her advice. Then the conversation took a turn South when she asked me, “What are you doing, why are you breathing so hard”. I don’t know why, but I simply replied “Nothing, just hanging out on my patio”. You might ask now why I didn’t just tell her I was on the bike at the gym, and that I can not answer. Ever since I stopped lying about big things, I catch myself just lying about small things for no reason like its some sort of balancing act.

It was then that the accusations started flying out of her mouth. She proceeded to accuse me of having sex with this new girl and deciding to call her. Now I think I’m a pretty normal person who tends to get his rocks off the old fashioned way, but know here is a person that knows me perhaps better than anyone on the planet, accusing me of being a sick demented fuck. Like I’m going to be banging a girl and decide that it would be really hot to pick up the phone and call my ex. We could then have a normal conversation while I’m slamming it into some other hot piece of ass, who of course would go along with this willing. Am I wrong, or that would take a pretty demented fuck.

She hung up on me. Then I thought about the situation and you know what, that might actually be pretty hot. Maybe this is a whole new level of sexual experience that I’m missing out on.

The most disturbing part of this whole thing is that the very next day, I was once again on the bike at the gym and I decided to pick up the phone and call my grandmother. We had a great conversation and then she asked me “What are you doing, why are you breathing so hard”. I almost lost it, I couldn’t help but think, does my grandmother know think that I’m banging some girl and decided to pick up the phone and call her. Wow, now that would be a sick demented fuck. It makes the whole calling your ex in the middle of sex thing seem like family programming. Then I thought, you are a sick fuck for even thinking about this. Its just a natural jump though for my brain, I can’t control the correlations it makes no matter how much I’d like to try.

Since then I’ve kinda stopped the whole calling people on the bike thing. If I do attempt it again, the first words out of my mouth before hello are going to be “I’m at the gym riding the bike!!”. Although maybe I shouldn’t make those the first words, early on maybe. If that’s the first thing I yell out, then it obviously is going to sound like a lie.

What I’d really like is for people to call me that want to talk and already know where I’m at. So I’m going to throw an update on Facebook as soon as I get on the bike, consider that an open invitation to call me for the next 30-45 minutes. Anything you need, sports, stock advice, sexual advice, or just wanna vent, go ahead and call me. It it’ll do us both some good. It’ll take my mind off what I’m doing, and you get access to my expertise and wealth of knowledge. So go ahead world, I’m listening.

Some qualities that one possesses just seem to be god given since birth. Its best not to question these qualities and just let them attempt to contribute to your life in the best possible manner. Speaking for myself, one such quality I possesses is my ability to instantly know the best route to take from one place to another.

Now by best route, you might concur that it would be the fastest way between two points. This would be correct most of the time, but there are other factors that can come into play. Things such as scenery and proximity to girls in bikini’s also play a component. It is true though that the key component to me is time. I’m seemingly always pressed for time, even when I have nothing to do. For me one of the major pros of excessive cocaine use, was all that extra time that it offers you. After all, time is money. Now I wouldn’t go so far as to call myself a successful cocaine user, but I did indeed get shit done. For example, all my DVD’s were in order by genre and alphabetized. This is no small feat when you consider that at its high point my DVD collection numbered somewhere around 1,000 movies. Its shrunk since then some do to selling of movies and some due to the fact that I had so many stolen by the thieving delinquents that reside in the type of residences I’ve frequented the past few years. I’m sure I’d be due some amends if any of those bastards ever managed to stay sober.

I must digress though, back to the route taking. I don’t know why God has planted this innate ability in me, but who am I to question God. The thing that angers me the most about this ability though is when other people question it. Anyone that’s hung around with me enough though, has seen it play itself out right before their eyes.

Now I do have GPS on my phone and will use it occasionally, but its really more of a tool to figure out where a certain address lies. Their routes are merely suggestions. There is no way a computer can take into account all the various intricacies that go into my determination of the best possible route. In this game of chess, Big Blue doesn’t stand a chance.

Sometimes the route taking ability just comes through experience, such as knowing that to attempt to go down I-95 in between 45st. and Belvedere between 4-6 is just ludicrous, you shouldn’t have to get cut in that crap more than twice to know that you can just shoot down Congress at about the exact same speed as a smooth running I-95. Its in fact visible from I-95. If your ever there sitting in a traffic jam, just take a glance to your East and you’ll see people cruising down Congress at 70mph in comfort.

Other times though its almost like a psychic ability. There have been times when its just popped into my head to avoid a certain road or intersection, only to have the traffic report come on the radio later saying to stay away from there, officers on scene.

I don’t even have to be familiar with the area, and that can be downright scary at some points. I remember being in Knoxville one year for a Gators game, (we won by the way on Gaffney’s late TD grab in the end zone, remember Vol fans possession in the end zone is different than the rest of the field. HAHA!) I had downed enough booze to kill a large Nigerian village and yet was still able to get us to the Waffle House before even the most intelligent Vol fan. My route taking ability was praised by all as we drunkenly smashed our country fried steaks into our mouths.

The question has now become, just how do I harness this power for good and not use it for evil like I’m tempted too with all my powers. This is a tough one, and really is just symbolic of an entire change in Frank culture that I’m attempting to enact. I’m always available to use this power to help others, I just need to be utilized. If anyone cares to ask me what the best route might be from point A to point B, please feel free and I will help you in anyway I can. That includes people I don’t even like, although if I don’t like you, your not even aware of it because I like to give off the impression that I love everyone when in fact I really only like about 8% of you people at the most.

Sunday was a very sad day at my alma mater The University of Florida. One of the real monuments of Gainesville, the UF bathouse collapsed. If you’ve never been to the bathouse, I feel sorry for you. If you’ve never dropped acid and gone to see the nightly flight to feed, I feel real sorry for you.

The campus at the University of Florida used to have a little bit of a bat problem. The little fuckers were everywhere, especially at the athletic facilites, during the late 1980’s. One time while at James G. Pressley Stadium at Percy Beard Track for a track meet, then Governor Bob Martinez famously complained about the smell of bat guano. It was due to this problem that the Bathouse was constructed, with money from the University Athletic Association, in 1991. Its goal was to provide the perfect type of structure to convince the bats that it was the best place to be. It was sort of a hedonism resort for bats. The Bathouse became home to over 200,000 Mexican free-tailed bats.

The Bathouse also contributed to the local economy, as all the pounds and pounds of bat guano that fell to the floor was donated to organic gardeners to use as fertilizer. The Bathouse really contributed nothing but good to everyone. That’s why what happened on Sunday was so sad.

One of perhaps the most tremendous experiences of my life was the first time I went to see the Bathouse. I had heard about beforehand but had never been out there before. I was sitting around with some friends doing acid when my buddy, WAKEBOARD BEARD, turned and said “It’s getting close to dusk, we should go see the bats.” This would become one of my favorite lines, and I’m definetly going to work it into a screenplay before my time here is done.

For those that don’t know, every night the bats leave the Bathouse to go out and feed on the insects around Lake Alice for the night. They all leave at the same time, its really quite a mesmerizing experience. It takes about 10-15 min for all of them to leave and its just a mess of fluttering flying little hell demons, its fantastic.

The first time you see it is just really incredible. I had such a great time, that I made it my goal to spread the joy of the experience to anyone that had never had it. Every year I’d find some new students and I’d provide the acid and the life changing experience. Its really the closest to nature that you can possibly feel. Especially if their a novice tripper, the look on their face when you turn and say “I think it’s time to go see the bats”, is just priceless. I’ve had people afterwards get down on their hands and knees and thank me for the experience.

That’s one of the things that makes it so ironic that the collapse happened on Sunday. Sunday was also move-in day for all the new students. I feel sad for those students and hope that the plans to reinvigorate the Bathouse come to fruition. They say that its going to take about $10,000 dollars to repair the existing one, and $60,000 dollars to construct a new one which they were already thinking about doing before the collapse.

These numbers seem like nothing, and I don’t really see anyway the University does not get right on. After all we pay Urban Meyer $4 million a year to coach the football team. I’m not saying he doesn’t earn every penny of that, but the money for the Bathouse should be no problem.

It should be mighty interesting the next few days in Gainesville as well, as now these 200,000 bats are searching for a new home. I implore anyone that spots a bat, to just leave it alone. If you leave them alone, they usually leave you alone. My dad was not so lucky as a child. One time while cleaning out the chimney where he lived in Cedartown, GA. A bat swooped down and bit him, right on the big toe. He jumped around with that bat latched right on his big toe and it wouldn’t let go. Eventually they got the bat off, but my dad then had to go and get rabies shots. If you’ve never had rabies shot, I can assure you that their something you want to avoid.

To UF officials, I must say get off your asses and get the dam Bathouse fixed. All those new students are missing out on one of the most important experiences of being a Florida Gator. I’d really like to try and raise the money myself. Imagine if I got it together and they named it after me. The Frank Fitton Bathouse, oh my god.

I came to a startling discovery about myself, that I think I’ve actually been aware of for quite sometime. Every single action that I take, whether good or bad, is somehow an attempt to get laid. Now I realized that I can’t control my mind a long time ago. It races constantly. It assesses the pros and cons of every situation that I come into contact with on a daily basis.

A lot of this are instant seconds of contemplation while others may drag out a little longer. Either way I’ve realized that I have hopes of getting laid by every action that I do. I think that every action we take affects thousands and thousands of other possible actions in the minutest of ways. Most of them no one could even fathom thinking of. Such as, you put in a dollar at the Starbucks tip jar, then the hot chick barista ends up leaving that dollar in her tip later that night at Denny’s where the old hag of a waitress buys her hot 19 year old daughter some lip gloss with the money. Later that week the daughter checks in to rehab and then ends up at a meeting when she has 30 days sober and is blowing you behind Oasis with that very same lip gloss on. This is of course an extreme example, but I believe that things go full circle a lot more than we realize.

Yesterday, I felt that I was doing a good deed. I was on my way to the gym when I noticed our token gay guy out front waiting for the bus.

At my halfway house it seems like we have a gay quota that we have to fill. There’s always one flamer. As soon as we got rid of the last one, they went out and brought one in. I swear it was like the very next day. Like their sitting on the shelf at the store or something.

Anyway, I’m leaving to go to the gym and I see him waiting on the bus. Immediately my mind starts going through its pro and con list. I roll down the window and yell to him that I’ll give him a ride. I’m not sure at what time the thought popped into my head. It almost seemed like it was while I was in mid sentence of offering the ride, I can’t really determine which happened first. Still I did think, now hot chicks love gay guys. Then my good deed for the little diva is going to filter back through the hot chick network, and their gonna just think I’m so great that they want to sleep with me right away. I’m not saying that I wouldn’t have done the good deed anyway, but the thoughts still go through my head.

After he pranced off to work, I was at the gym riding the bike just thinking about all the different things I do that have this elaborate plan of how their going to get me laid. Its staggering.

I have a Free Tibet sticker on my car for instance, not because I care about the stupid dam Tibetans, but because I think hot chicks will see what a great guy I am caring about a cause. I actually read up on the cause a little so I could be prepared if a girl ever quizzed me on it. As I was looking into the cause, I actually thought I was starting to care about Tibet. I can’t really be sure though, cause sometimes when your so good at being full of shit, you can even fool yourself.

The crazy part is, the things that actually do end up getting me laid turn out to be the things I didn’t think of at all. One time in Gainesville, I found out that I ended up getting laid just because I was wearing the most comfortable looking fleece at the time. I was out drinking with a bunch of people at the Swamp and a cold front had just come through that night. The temperature ended up dropping about 20 degrees in just a few hours. Being the amateur meteorologist that I am, I knew about the impending dip in temperatures and dressed accordingly. As the night ended some girl came up and asked to borrow my fleece because it was cold. She ended up going back to my house with me, and the rest was mediocre magic.

Later we became friends and she told me how that night she was just cold and looked around for whoever had the warmest looking coat on. The crazy part is I remember specifically that night that I put on these crazy pink argyle socks thinking how cool they were and showed that I was senstive, and that was going to get me laid. I didn’t even think about the dam fleece at all. It just goes to show how little I understand women.

I’ve also realized that when I have a girlfriend this all changes. I’m a pretty good guy deep down, and when I have a girlfriend I’m not out trying to get laid by anyone else. I’m not saying that I’ve been been 100% faithful, but it was never planned, I just sorta fell into it. So when I have a girlfriend, I can actually do good deeds just out of pure altruism. Thats gonna be pretty sweet. Now in recovery they tell you not to get into a new relationship in the first year. Right now I got about 6 months sober, so I’m still in that period. They also tell you however to help others. Its a double edged sword for me, because I can’t do both. The only way I can do good, just for the sake of doing good, is to be in a relationship. Without that, everything I do is to try and get laid. Its quite the situation to be in.

Right now I’ve got a little bit of a cold. Its nothing serious just a little congestion with a cough. As with any problem I know have to decide what my options are and how to attack this invisible menace. Back in the day I found that Oxycontin was very good at dealing with the common cold. Just take a couple and all your symptoms seem to go away. There’s really no time table on when to take more, I liked to go by my favorite physician’s orders of “take as necessary”.

Now that is no longer an option. Since I’ve been sober I found something that worked great was the Zicam Gel Swab. This basically consists of a q-tip in a tube filled with the gel Zicam and you wet the q-tip and then shove it up your nose. You rub it around in there and then after taking it out hold your nostril closed, and then repeat with the other nostril. This product was great on two fronts. First off it actually did a noticeable job in fighting a cold, and secondly it was great for a former cocaine addict because it had been so long since I shoved a drug up my nose. This time I’m actually putting something up there that’s good for me, how fantastic. I can’t wait till they come out with Zicam snort-able powder, that will be good shit.

Then something very bad happened a couple months ago. The makers of Zicam took the gel swabs off the market because of complaints that people who used them had lost their sense of smell. This is something that never happened to me, but I didn’t use them all the time. I imagine that these people that it happened too, must have been going through about 20 gel swabs a day. So typical of our country where a few nut jobs have to ruin the party for all of us.

Back to the present and I’m sitting here with still a half full box of the Zicam Gel Swabs, which I add are fairly expensive as a box costs like $15 bucks. I know that the Zicam will make me feel better, but its a recalled product. Do I dare be a rebel and use it anyway? That’s when it hit me of how ridiculous this all is. Here I am Mr. former heavy cocaine user and half gallon of bourbon a day drinker, worried about the possible ill effects of using a cold remedy. Its not the first time either, its like people lose their minds over these types of warnings, and don’t pay any mind to warnings about things that are a million times more serious. “Don’t smoke cigarettes, their proven to cause cancer”. Ah fuck that, by the time I’m old enough to get lung cancer their gonna have a cure for it. “Don’t use tanning beds, their also proven to cause cancer”. Whatever, just the risk I have to take to look this dam good. “Don’t drink or smoke while pregnant can cause horrible horrible things to happen to your baby”. All right, so I don’t have any experience in this one, but I know ladies cheat on it a little bit.

The same sort of thing also happened to me right around the same time as the Zicam recall, my Hydroxycut got recalled for causing damage to your liver. Hydroxycut was a workout/weight loss product that helped you to cut weight and burn more calories. I had been taking it for about 3 months, and I did notice that it was having an effect. Of course I went with the Hydroxycut Hardcore, cause if there’s a hardcore version of anything that’s the one that I’m going with no doubt. Then I found out about the liver damage, I immediately stopped taking it. This from the same guy who drank booze like it was going out of style all day every day, like that didn’t cause liver damage or something. I checked into rehab for the first time at age 26 and the doctor told me that I had the worst liver he’d ever seen on a 26 year old. I kinda took that as a badge of honor type compliment.

Now here’s Hydroxycut doing the same thing, and I instantly on hearing the news stop taking it. My roommate at the time, FEED STORE, says to me that he doesn’t give a fuck and he wants it. So I gave it to him and he said he’d throw me some cash that Friday when he got payed. Now I realize that I never got that money. FEED STORE has since moved out, but he’s still in town and doing well, in fact he came over yesterday. I am going to get that dam cash someday.

Its just crazy how certain warnings freak us out while those others we could care less about. Something as simple as wearing your seat belt which saves countless lives each and every year, I’d say isn’t done by about 50% of my friends. Yet tell people that a frozen dinner got recalled due to salmonella, and everyone is scared of it like its got the plague. Human beings are such crazy people. Fuck it, I’m taking the Zicam too, I’ve got balls of steel. EXTREME!!!!!!!!

The stuffed shirts up at The Princeton Review released their rankings of the top party schools recently, and my University of Florida came in second. God, I hate coming in 2nd in anything. The #1 school according to these rankings is Penn State University. Florida was #1 last year, so that means either we partied less or those dam Nittany Lions partied harder this year. Florida administrators are happy about it of course, but I think I can speak for all of our alumni when I say Fuck That.

I don’t understand how we could possibly lose out to the people at Penn St. What the fuck is there to do in Happy Valley, I guess they can just sit around and drink all day, but that’s not really a “party” in my mind. When I think Penn St. I think blue blazers and getting hand jobs from your prude girlfriend. Certainly not the way we roll up in Gainesville.

I don’t want to sound like an old man or anything either, but they partied much harder in Gainesville during my day. I was actually there for the beginning of the curbing of the rocking era.When I first got there, a 2 am closing law was unheard of. That law was passed in about my 3rd year up there, and it was pretty much totally aimed at shutting down this awesome rave club Simon’s. Anyone up there during that time, or living anywhere else in the state knows about Simon’s. That place was usually going until about 9 or 10am. Its main problem was a geographical one. Simon’s was located downtown basically right across the street from the courthouse. That meant that when all those lame ass government people were heading in to work at 9 am, people would be stumbling out of Simon’s with that lovely perpetual smile.

The guy that owned Simon’s rocked too, he was this crazy Russian guy named of course Simon. I remember when they were playing around with the 2 am closing role at the city commission meetings he would always be there. These meetings were on local TV up there, and I would watch just to hear what Simon had to say. When they passed the law, he picked up a chair and threw it at the head commissioner, it was awesome. He then opened up Soulhouse, but it wasn’t anywhere near the debauchery level of Simon’s.

Another initiative they pulled while I was up there was banning halftime re-entry at football games. This was a tremendous policy they had, it meant that at halftime you could leave and then re-enter the stadium. Anyone that’s been up to that little slice of heaven in north-central Florida for a Saturday service, knows that right across the stadium are a whole bunch of bars. So at halftime everyone would run across the street to The Purple Porpoise (now sadly defunct and the much less rocking Gator City), The Swamp, or The Grog House and you would get there and they’d already have shots lined up and waiting. You’d down a bunch of shots in succession and then run right back to the stadium without missing a thing. I think that law was pushed through by the local liquor store and Ziploc bag lobby, which is strong, as it just meant that know you had to sneak a whole lot more booze into the game.

Losing to those prissy Penn St. boys is just not acceptable. I’m tempted to just scrape this whole being sober thing and enroll in grad school so that I can make it my mission to return us to our deserved place at #1. It might be taking the idea of Gator Nation a little to far, but I am tempted. At the very least I can implore the people up there to man up and crank it up a notch this year. When you feel like just drinking beer, make it a Jager-Bomb instead. When you feel like just having sex with one freshman girl, make it a threesome. When you feel like rolling to class stoned, suck it up and eat some mushrooms. Show a little school pride.

You can see the top 20 on the Princeton Review’s tainted list here

I know what your thinking, what the hell is up with another piece about bathrooms already. I don’t have a bathroom fetish or anything that’s just been the luck of the draw. I mean compared to how much time I used to spend in there, I spend hardly any of my time in the bathroom anymore.

Its interesting when you look at how my bathroom time has gone throughout the years. When I was very little it was impossible to get me into the bathroom. I hated it and would spend as little time as possible in there. Unless my mother forced me too, I wasn’t going. Then sometimes I’d even just go in there, turn the shower on so it made noise and not get in. Then I just stick my head in so it looked like I got wet.

Then puberty hit, and I started spending a whole lot of time in the bathroom, and I mean a whole lot. The bathroom became one of my favorite places. Then I realized that how much funnier it was to not do it alone and my bathroom time declined. Then I discovered cocaine, and right back into the bathroom I went. I practically lived in the bathroom for a few years there. They could have moved my bed in there, but it wasn’t necessary because I didn’t sleep.

Now things are back to normal and I’m just a regular bathroom user. Now I hate being a regular anything, but this one that I can live with

The reason I’m writing about this today is because of an incident that happened yesterday at work. I’ve been working at this office for almost two months now. I really try to avoid having to take a dump at work as much as possible. This day would only be the 2nd time that the uncontrollable urge had hit me. Our office is in a building with a bunch of other offices, on each floor is a bathroom and you need a key to get into it. For my first three weeks I didn’t even have a key, but now I’ve earned the right to go whenever I want.

So I head on over to the bathroom and thank god there’s no one else in there. I know that I’m not the only one that when they turn that key just prays to god that its empty. Its just so much more comfortable that way. Our bathroom is rather small, it consists of one urinal, one regular stall, and one handicapped accessible stall.

I of course choose the handicapped stall. Your handicapped stall is basically the Cadillac of the public restrooms stalls. It’s more spacious, has some added amenities, and just provides a more luxurious bathroom experience I think. When your in that regular stall your just crammed in there like a can of sardines. I actually think they should change the name for the handicapped stall to the handicapped/fat people stall, because there’s no way lard ass is getting into that regular stall.

So I’m in there doing my thing and reading ESPN.com on my phone, when all of a sudden the door opens. My heart sinks and I think, dam I hope it doesn’t smell in here. The funny thing is the noise that follows, its like a sliding noise over the tile floor. Then I hear “crap, there’s someone in it”. I think what the fuck, use the other one and who’s this idiot talking to himself. Then there’s a response “it’s okay, we’ll just wait”. I think what the fuck is going on why are there two people and their both waiting for my stall. Then it hits me, oh my god, it’s an actual handicapped person. I hurriedly finish up my business, as I was basically done and just relaxing reading up on the Roy Halladay situation.

I then walk out of the stall and then notice that is an older man in a wheelchair with a younger fella, probably his son, hanging in the back. He immediattly shoots me this look of death. Its like a fuck you no handicapped person for taking the only stall I can use. I feel horrible. I go to the sink and wash my hands really quickly. There’s a sink in the handicapped stall, which is another benefit of it, but I didn’t dare use that one while the poor man was waiting. Normally I use that one and it’s great, its like you never need to meddle or associate with all those people in the coach bathroom.

What are the chances though. I don’t think I’m gonna stop using the handicapped stall, but I did feel bad. That poor old man’s steely look at me as I emerged from the stall with perfectly good legs, will always be burned into my mind. Mind you, our office is on the 2nd floor. Which doesn’t mean much, but he had to be visiting a lawyer, or some sort of personal finance guy or something up there. I’ve never seen anyone in a wheelchair anywhere on the property.

So what it comes down to I think, is just a horrible stroke of luck. Am I gonna modify my behavior at all, no. Why should I go and sit in that dam Hyundai stall just on the astronomical chance that this happens. Besides it’s already happened to me once, so I’m not due for awhile. All you other people, your the one’s that need to watch out.

Hopefully I won’t write about anything bathroom related for quite awhile, there’s never a guarantee though.