Tag Archives: bathroom

Bedroom

Bedroom: (n/adj) a room for sleeping in; relating to sexual relationsDictionary B

If you realize how silly we human beings are, it actually will make you become more merciful of the thoughts and actions of others.

This is evident to me with the word “bedroom.”

Even the dictionary can’t decide whether it’s a place of sleep or a launching pad for pleasure.

The bedroom itself, with all of its elements, is divided up equally as confusing.

For instance, the word “pillow” does not conjugate to any kind of sexual inference at all, but if you say “sheets,” then thoughts of what happens between them might cross your mind.

No one seems to get horny at the mention of a “blanket.”

And certainly, the word “dresser” does not rise up the blood pressure–unless you change it to “un-dress-her.”

How about the closet? I guess you could come out of it.

The accompanying bathroom does not evoke much passion.

But the word “mattress” does conjure visions of a high school fling or two.

I don’t think we are turned on by “box springs.”

But “night stand” might make us think about special implements and lotions located within.

We are so hilarious and uptight in our actions, yet often lascivious in our thoughts.

Yet if you did a chart on the amount of time you spend in the bedroom having sex, even reading and watching television would soar high above the antics.

Bedroom–another example of how childish we remain … while still insisting we are worthy of a mortgage.

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Bathroom

Bathroom: (n) a room containing a toilet, a sink and typically also a bathtub or shower.Dictionary B

It is often about choosing the right word.

Calling it a “restroom” is deceiving. Unless you plan on lounging in a bubble bath, there’s very little rest that occurs within its four walls. Yet referring to it as a “toilet” does limit its scope.

This came to my mind yesterday when someone rose to their feet and announced that they were going to go “take a dump.”

Honest to God, I try not to be prejudiced about what comes off the lips of fellow-travelers, but certain phrases were never meant for general hearing, and may not have been necessary for coining and phrasing in the first place.

I am not going to gross you out by discussing these options.

Yet I’m not certain why I need to announce my bathroom agenda to the room anyway.

And certainly referring to the process as “dumping” lacks, shall we say, some charm.

That is the beauty of the word “bathroom.”

Since it contains a bath, which is the least offensive part of the enclosure, honoring that purpose is kind and considerate.

I suppose that’s how we came up with “living room.”

I don’t know what the source of “den” would be.

And I do think “bedroom” is more practical than “sleep or sex chamber.”

Do you see what I mean?

Some people feel very liberated by saying the first thing that comes off the top of their head. But I have always found it much more pleasant to procure verbiage … from several deeper layers. 

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Baptism

Baptism: (n) in the Christian Church, the religious rite of sprinkling water onto a person’s forehead or of immersion in water, symbolizing purification or regeneration and admission to the Christian Church Dictionary B

It is very difficult to recognize arrogance when perched in the permeating presence of arrogance.

Arrogance often appears to be good judgment, sound doctrine, faithful thinking and maturity when not examined for its elements of pious snobbery.

I grew up in a church that believed you were supposed to dunk people in water to baptize them. They not only believed it–they thought that any other form of baptism was errant, and would not be accepted at the Great Judgment Day, when the Holy God of All came to check out our baptismal certificate.

I developed an arrogance about it to match the arrogance of those around me who arrogantly thought they were following an arrogant message from an arrogant God.

In the process, the significance and symbolism of baptism mostly escaped me.

Baptism is really simple. To me, it’s similar to acknowledging that since I’ve gone into the bathroom and used the toilet, there’s a great possibility I might need to wash my hands.

For you must know that human life not only sullies our efforts, but also dirties our souls.

The symbolism of baptism washing us from the foolishness of the past to allow us newness of life is breathtaking–especially when you consider that the One we place our confidence in was baptized himself.

Yes, Jesus felt it was necessary to be baptized.

And since we have deemed him “perfect,” then it is a good idea for us to consider the significance of what can truly be a fulfilling cleansing.

 

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Avert

Avert: (v) turn away one’s eyes or thoughts.

I like breasts.dictionary with letter A

I’m not talking about those that are dipped in egg and fried in a skillet which come from the hen-house. They have their appeal.

I’m talking about the breasts on the female of our species.

I suppose sharing that out loud makes one seem a little perverted or at least overly vulnerable. I don’t care. To deny it would make me a moralistic liar.

I especially enjoyed breasts in my twenties.

Matter of fact, I was traveling with a young lady who had a pair which particularly piqued my intrigue.

I tried to take the normal path that might lead one to revelation. In other words, I expressed interest in her, hoping that such a courtesy would eventually lead to full disclosure. But it didn’t.

She cursedly liked me “as a friend.” Friends don’t usually share their bosoms. (Just something I’ve discovered.)

So if I was going to feed the lustful monster which habitated somewhere deep in the cellar of my thoughts, it became necessary for me to come up with an angle from which to view the breasts of this young girl without going through medical school and becoming her gynecologist.

We were staying at a motel. Motels have a very sneaky system. The mirror that is on the wall–usually directly behind the television set–just happens to give you an excellent viewing angle into the nearby bathroom.

Now, I’m not certain if my friend, who happened to be a girl, was just naive, or if she was a little vixen who knew how to quickly escape into her foxhole. But one night she took a shower and decided not to close the bathroom door all the way. So sitting on my bed and gazing into that magical mirror, I was able to catch a vision of her womanhood.

At first it was hazy from the shower steam. But I persisted–and gradually, there they were.

Her breasts. They were beautiful.

She lingered and I joined her.

I became so excited that I nearly felt the need to take the situation in hand. But I maintained my dignity just in case she would emerge and catch me.

It was amazing.

I did not avert my glance.

I do not know what I would have been, to be so responsible. But whoever that person was, I personally was not acquainted with him.

I still like breasts. I am no longer a Peeping Tom, nor do I look for magical ways to see them, but I’m sure there are other things that I should avoid seeing … but I fail to avert my eyes.

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Attest

Attest: (v) declare that something exists or is the case.dictionary with letter A

If I reached into my treasure chest of what I believe and hold dear, and removed everything that wasn’t backed up by my own experience, I would soon find myself with a lot of available room.

One of my steps of maturity in this human journey is realizing that quoting, reciting, insisting, proclaiming, preaching and postulating “just don’t make it so, Joe.”

Honestly, the only time my words are worthy of being heard are when they are accompanied by adequate traveling miles that confirm I have actually taken the trip.

What can I attest to?

  • I can attest to the fact that “an eye for an eye” is completely useless and renders us violent and paranoid.
  • I can attest to the fact that normally when I am kind, gentle and loving to the world around me I get some portion of that coming back my way.
  • I can attest to the fact that judging other people only creates enemies and pisses God off.
  • I can attest to the fact that when I’m given a tiny window to use my talent, my ability is proven to have enough traction to generate an income in my direction.
  • I can attest to the fact that 20 minutes after I eat at Taco Bell, I have to go to the bathroom.

These are my realities.

They are true enough that I could swear on a stack of Bibles, even though honestly, I couldn’t swear on a stack of my realities about everything that’s in the Bible.

It does not mean that I don’t hold many truths to be self-evident, or wish they were realities. It’s just that I can’t attest to them.

And when I try to do so, I end up getting challenged, and either looking like a fool or finding myself stubbornly digging my heels in on glare ice.

Simplify.

Are there a certain number of things we need to believe to be classified as believers?

Or does being able to attest to one thing get you into the club?

 

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Appliance

dictionary with letter A

Appliance: (n) a piece of equipment designed to do a specific task, typically a domestic one.

I have often thought it would be a very intelligent maneuver to set my mind to becoming more of a handy man.

I have a very firm conviction (though many of you would consider it a superstition): I think my appliances know that I’m ignorant.

I think secretly they hide out in the kitchen, the bathroom or the office and plot ways to make me nervous by pretending to pull up lame at the most inopportune times so they can view me fidgeting nervously, wondering how to accomplish my task without them.

If you think about it, this is the only self-worth an appliance has. No one pops the bread in the toaster, has it cook to a golden brown and then pats the chrome while saying, “Thank you, toaster for doing your job.”

The only time we actually acknowledge the toaster, or any number of appliances, is when they decide to go on the fritz or become intermittent in some disgusting pattern. It is only then that we appreciate the value they bring to the household.

Is it too far out for me to believe that these appliances might have some sort of agreement among each other, to seek approval by refusing to operate?

So I think becoming a little more handy with tools, threatening to break them open and play with their innards, might be enough to rein them into submission.

Of course, the times I’ve hung around such skillful laborers, I have quickly deterred from my passion to pursue their abilities, because within moments, their explanations and terminology leave me totally baffled. (For instance, a friend of mine talked a good ten minutes about various types of screws before I realized he wasn’t being lascivious.)

So since I’m pathetic with the implements which might be able to fix my appliances, I’ve decided to be very polite, gentle and appreciative to them. Landing somewhere between encouraging a baby to walk and a dog to retrieve a frisbee, I have developed lingo for each and every one of them to let them know how much I value their service.

  • So the dishwasher is “dear.”
  • The toaster is “cool, man.”
  • And the blender is “wow.”

I hope by using these little bursts of encouragement, I can keep them operating in tip-top shape…so they don’t feel the need to threaten me with the silent treatment or their shut-down mode.

 

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Anosmia

dictionary with letter A

Anosmia: (n) the loss of the sense of smell, caused by injury, infection or the blockage of the nose.

There’s a name for it!

One of my greatest joys in doing this daily essay is discovering that there are words that have been set aside to describe much of the weirdness that I’ve experienced in my life.

I probably won’t remember the word in the moment that I need it, but it’s still nice to know that my predicament is common enough that somebody “worded” it.

Several years ago I had a sinus infection. I didn’t know it was a sinus infection, but all of the amateur doctors I’m acquainted with (who also double as friends and family) let me know that I did not have a common cold, but rather, common sinusitis.

I convinced myself that I got the condition from sleeping in a house where construction was going on and that sawdust had stuffed up my beezer. Of course, this is highly unlikely, but it sounded cool when relating my malady to others.

But one of the things I remember about the experience was that I stopped being able to smell anything. Food, bathroom aromas and even my own particular scent evaded my scrutiny.

At first I wasn’t bothered by this side effect, but then I began to wonder if I was stinking to other folks, and was unaware of it.

I did what every human being would do. I overcompensated:

  • Instead of splashing myself with cologne once, I did it three times.
  • A double application of deodorant.
  • And an extra minute or two in the shower, scrub-a-dub-dub.

It was at this point that I noticed that people were wincing as I walked by, so I decided I must be stinking horribly, so I doused myself even further.

Honestly, I’ve never had all my friends so glad to see me get over an ailment.

So I guess the moral of the story is: when you can’t smell yourself, it’s better to assume you’re okay. 

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Alarm

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Alarm: (n) 1. an anxious awareness of danger 2. the sound or warning of imminent danger

Do they still call it a fire drill?

I’m not sure.

When I was a kid, about every six or seven weeks, the school bell rang uncontrollably, and we were told to rise from our seats, get into single file and march out of the building into the awaiting parking lot in anticipation of what could have been a fire breaking out.

Of course, we all knew it was just a drill. A practice, if you will. But it was still a bit alarming to hear the bell, and delightful to be able to escape the world of desks, pens, paper and droning “teacher voices,” to go outside for a few minutes with your friends.

Of course, in the adult world, they had plans set in place to rectify that potential for pleasure.

You had to remain silent.

This was the same thing you were cautioned to do when standing in line for the cafeteria, gathering for an assembly or even finding your path to the bathroom.

Silence.

I realize now that we were never in danger of fire. And I’m not being critical of the craft of preparation. I understand it thoroughly and agree with the premise.

But the alarming part of the process of leaving our school, considering the potential for a blazing inferno, was actually the fact that we were taught to be non-social.

  • Couldn’t talk in class.
  • Couldn’t talk in the cafeteria.
  • And couldn’t talk on the way to the fire drill.

And then we wonder why human beings grow up sheltered, protected, suspicious and just downright cranky. After all, we’re not about to let our offspring chum with one another when we were forbidden to do so.

Yes, I would say the most alarming thing about hearing the alarm bell tell us to go to a fire drill, considering the alarming possibility of a burning school, was the fact that we weren’t allowed to be human and interactive.

I guess that’s true all over the world. I’m sure Chinese people discourage chattiness in their children just like Americans quell such outbursts. But I wonder if we lose something by being too alarmed.

Don’t we sacrifice the child-like instinct to enjoy ourselves, believe for the best and want to whisper interesting things to our neighbor?

 

Access

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Access: (n.) 1. means of approaching of entering a place 2. the right to use or benefit from 3. the right or opportunity to approach or see someone 4. the action or process of obtaining or retrieving information stored in a computer’s memory 5. the condition of being able to be reached or obtained.

Here we go again.

Over and over, we see the same stupid procedure utilized by seemingly intelligent men and women when confronted with the inadequacy of their performance. For some reason or another, people find it difficult to simply say, “I screwed up.”

Nearly every President throughout our history has suffered from some sort of scandal–not because error occurred, but mainly generated by the back-pedaling and lying initiated after the fact.

I am not positive at what age we begin to hide inside our shells and “turtle” our emotions and motivations away from the world around us. It certainly isn’t when we’re little kids. I remember when I was a child, I embarrassed my parents by walking out holding my own turd in my hand to explain to them that I had failed to make it all the way to the bathroom. Much to their dismay, this presentation was acted out in front of some clients they were trying to impress. It wasn’t that I was proud of my offering on that day–it was simply that I was naive enough to believe that it was essential to give my parents access to every part of my life–even misplaced bowel movements.

It must have been some time in my teens when it seemed more prudent to cover up my mistakes with lies and excuses, which I apparently succeeded in pulling off enough times that I thought I could pursue it as a lifestyle.

We can’t.

Although I agree that complete transparency might be optimistic, being the FIRST one to admit your failures is an advantage that God grants only to the wisest confessors. Once you are found out by strangers, you are at the mercy of their discretion. That’s frightening.

What would I tell the President if I were his advisor? Find out immediately where you had ANY tie-in with these existing difficulties–or KNEW anyone who had a link–and release the information as quickly as possible.

Certainly your enemies will have a heyday over the stupidity–but not as much as they will over the notorious disguise of the facts.

I love to write a daily blog because it gives me the chance to access the truth in my soul and give you access to it, before you independently discover what a dim-witted idiot I can be from time to time.

Yes, I will be so bold as to tell you that the only way to look smart in this world is to point out when you’re stupid. If you wait for the jury to come in, you will never be able to negotiate a plea bargain, and often, each one of us is careless enough that we must throw ourselves on the mercy of the court.

Abattoir

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abattoir: n. a slaughterhouse

Thank God.

I will never, ever again have to nervously tell my friends that I will be unable to join them for dinner because I needed to pick up an extra shift at the slaughterhouse. I can just inform them that I am “tied up at the abattoir.”

Don’t you love words like that? Without them, our civilization might crumble in a series of offensive utterances that leave the room either confused or repelled.

For instance, how about the guy or gal who first came up with “restroom?” After all, even “bathroom” is a little bit weird and ambiguous. )It did, however,  at least give us the ability to escape crapper, pot, toilet and “take a dump.”)

Yes, because we have “civilized” our language, we are now able, as high-browed souls, to judge others on their improper usage of words.  If anyone is going to say in mixed company that they’re going to “take a crap,” we assume that they would kill baby birds and also vote for the candidate distasteful to our tender conscience.

I would love to see us resolve this with the issue of romance–because to proclaim that the previous evening afforded you the opportunity to have sex is way too blatant, conjuring images of you in the nude which are unpleasant to all participants. Equally nasty is “getting it on,” “hooking up,” “bumping uglies,” “getting some,” and even “making love.” I guess that last one, “making love,” is the least offensive, but it still invites images of movie scenes with soft lighting, air-brushed bodies and guaranteed orgasms for all parties.

Yes, now that we’ve taken care of that “slaughterhouse” dilemma, we need to work on a description of human sexuality that doesn’t leave the listener confused or completely grossed out.

What is the abattoir for romance? I wish they’d hold a contest. The submissions would be hilarious, don’t you think?

But in the meantime, I shall spend my day rejoicing that slaughtered pigs, cows, chickens and even goats are going out in finer style–at the abattoir.