** Commodo-Phobia

I am afraid of toilets.  I have commodo-phobia.  I’m not afraid of healthy, clean and perfectly working models with no weird additions; these I regard with only a little suspicion.  I’m talking about public toilets, porta-potties, airline toilets, airport toilets, train toilets, depot toilets, dirty toilets, broken toilets, toilets missing the tank cover and toilets that make gurgling sounds before and/or after they are flushed.  Oh, and toilets that won’t flush after you’ve used them.  (Stop judging me.)

RIP, 6th Square, RIP.

I actually have toilet nightmares, no kidding, where I have to go really, really bad in my dream and there are NO suitable toilets in the whole multi-stalled bathrooms from hell.  There are dirty toilets, full toilets, broken toilets that won’t flush, holes in the floor, leaning toilets but not a single dang one that is usable!!  Invariably, I wake up needing to head to the head.  As I’ve grown, these dreams become less scary and more baffling.  WTH??  (I really mean it about the not judging thing.)

When faced with no other choice than to use one of the above toilet scenarios, I have to say that I do so with the utmost trepidation.  The ladies out there know what I’m talking about:  We ALL do the classic “Ralph Macchio/Karate Kid Pose,” the pose from the final fight scene with the mean kid, when faced with an unclean toilet.  We even LOOK like him, with that “Oh, crap!” expression, shaking a little, bug eyed and balancing “just so” in horror that our delicate nether regions might actually make contact with the seat, which is most likely lined with TP, just in case.  If you’re like me, ladies, you don’t even want to touch the walls of the stall by accident and you NEVER put your purse on the floor.  Men have no idea what we ladies must bravely face when in public domains.  And, our thighs are frickin’ STRONG from all the hovering and balancing, guys.

 

Translation: "No men, women or
sink pedestals are allowed to
move around the cabin
at this time."

     I recently got back from a vacation with my hubby to Zurich,             Switzerland.  Jeff and I travel a lot and I will NEVER get used to using airline restrooms.  It’s bad enough trying to do the Ralph Macchio pose in that tiny space, staring down at the floor in horror at what had BETTER be only water from the tiny little sink, but to do so at high altitudes while a giant child shakes the plane around like a rattle is almost enough to make me want to swim to Europe, thank you very much.  

We got in to Switzerland and made our way to our hotel, the Swisshotel by Oerlikon Station.  The toilet in our hotel room was a weird shape but otherwise looked harmless, thank goodness.  As we traveled about this beautiful country, going to Lucerne, Mt. Pilatus and Schaffhausen am

** The Blackfoot Tribe

Darn.  I’ll bet Martha Stewart has never had this problem.  I don’t think Jackie O had it, either.  Lucille Ball may have, though, during the grape stomping episode.   Unfortunately, I’m now cast into the role of having something embarrassing happen to me at no fault, really, of my own - just like poor Lucy.  What happened, you ask?  Allow me to explain….

I have a pair of wonderful, comfy, all-terrain and amphibious sandals that I can wear into or out of the water.  They have squishy rubber-like soles and nicely styled elastic-like uppers.  These sandals match everything in my closet that goes with black and can be dressed up/dressed down as the occasion warrants.   I.  Love.  Them!  However, during the summer months, I wear these sandals quite often during the summers and end up getting the same problem that many folks do….dry and cracking heels. 

Mine are not the summertime delicate dry feet of a dainty lady, unfortunately.  They are Hobbit feet.  My heels look like the bottom of a creek bed after a long drought and they sometimes require sanding, scraping, chain-sawing, bench grinding and pick-axing in order to look somewhat like a bona fide heel on a real human being.  Regular pedicures are no match for them.  So, I’ve been employing a foul smelling substance every night that is made specifically for heels that look like mine.  

This stuff smells like paint thinner mixed with eucalyptus mixed with earwax mixed with gasoline.  It makes your eyes water and your nose hairs curl.  Sometimes, I’ll wear socks over my feet before reading in bed at night, letting them soak in the smelly substance without getting the earwax solution on the bed.  (Jeff loves this.)  I remove the socks, gently buff off the smelly stuff, and it’s off to dreamland to wake in the morning with softer feet, something such as Sleeping Beauty might have.  Lovely!

Now, it’s great to have something on hand that will soften the calluses on your heels, no matter what it smells like.  The problem arises when you feel that it’s a good idea to slime your heels with this substance and wear the aforementioned wonderful, comfy, rubber-soled, all-terrain and amphibious sandals.  The directions say to apply twice a day and, hey, the stuff was working pretty well with my doing it once a day.  How great will my feet look with TWICE a day applications, right??

Wrong.  It’s a little known fact that rubber can be melted by a foot balm substance that claims to be hypo-

** Advertising, Part 1 - A Disclaimer.

Notice those little underlined, highlighted words in blue, here and there within my Blog title and sech?  I have no control over them and they are there merely to annoy you with advertisements.  I leave it to you whether or not to click on them but don't blame me if you find that you've purchased a case of non-returnable L'Oreal products or if pizza is delivered to your door, COD.  I didn't do it.

** Just Ducky.

There’s a war going on in Lago Vista, TX.  Sides have been taken and no quarter will be drawn.  The opponents both think that their opinions are the only correct opinions to be had and are willing to draw blood and fight for their rights.  Sound familiar, like any other war?  Well it’s not quite so.  It is a peculiar war in that there are no weapons drawn, no ammunition stored.  And it’s made a little more peculiar by the fact that the two armies are entirely made up of ducks. 

The resident ducks are a group of three friends who always swim together and a group of four ducks who always swim together.  They believe that it is their right, and ONLY their right, to have marina privileges, though they pay no property owner association fees and don’t even own boats.  One group stays on one side of the marina and the other group takes the other side, co-habitating,  having cocktails, keeping up with the news and living in peace.

Then, there are the ‘snowbirds,’ the commuter ducks, those that are very much like their human ‘snowbird’ counterparts except for the fact that they don’t own RVs or have second homes in the Hamptons.  When they come in for the winter, there’s hell to pay.  Let the games begin!

Allow me to introduce you to the players:  (We will ignore the group of four ducks because they really don’t care much about the commuter ducks.  They are really more like the Switzerlands or Canadians of duckhood and they let the other three fight for their rights and freedoms.  Hey, don’t knock it, it works for them.)

"Don't gimme no sh*t, mutherf***er!!"

Duck #1 = Aphro-duckie.  This duck is of an undetermined breed but sort of looks like a male mallard except for the fact that he/she has an afro.  Seriously, imagine a normal looking duck head with a little bitty afro wig on top and you get Aphro-duckie, the duck Goddess of Love.  (Well, that is, if it’s a female.  If it’s a male, you get “Shaft.”)  Either way, this goofy looking creature is not the ring leader but is the largest of the trio.  Aphro-duckie seems to follow the lead of….

Duck #2 = Laughing Duck, aka Phyllis.  Holy crap, but this duck laughs at everything and loudly?  I think she’s really giving instructions to the other two but you cannot help but laugh when she does.  Her voice is like that of a drill sergeant and she is also the scout duck, notifying all the troops about a new fish in the lake or a new branch by the lake or a new rock she just discovered or, oh, look, it’s a cloud! or anything that looks like duck news.  She sounds like Phyllis Diller and is an alarmist.  She can make drama out of anything, very much like Barbara Walters, and does so with an amazing voice, scaling down in tone and volume with each syllable:“WAAAAACK, WaAcK, WaCk, wack, wack, wack, wak….”  White, large and fluffy, she is always first to get to the bread when thrown and, when trying to do so, will swim right over…

Duck #3 = Let’s call this one Martha.  She is the smallest of the trio and is very soft spoken and mannerly, the perfect hostess when the other four come round for dinner, setting a perfect table and creating centerpieces out of feathers, poo and sticks.  Her hair is always perfect.  However, when faced with adversity, you just know that she can pull out the big guns, much like Martha Stewart.  The little mallard that could, she always pays her taxes and doesn’t do any insider trading…that we know of.

This little trio goes up against the commuter ducks, those that fly down from the North around October and decide that, no, little plant groves along the shore are not good enough for THEM, they must have what

** Yoga is Relaxing....Really.

When you think you’ve had a rough day, try doing some Yoga to relax.  This was how my Yoga session went yesterday evening.

Got a new Yoga mat, delivered fresh this afternoon by the UPS man!!  Yay!!  Thought I’d give it a break-in whirl this evening – It’s a top of the line, hard to find extra wide version that’s a plushy ¼ inch of cush compared to the Bandaid that most stores sell ya.  Now, I have taped episodes of Namaste Yoga off the tube, but I still like to do the TV version whenever it’s airing to save wear and tear on my tapes.  Tuesday nights, the AHN channel airs TWO episodes, back to back – I’ll do ‘em both ‘cause I’ve had a stressful day trying to figure out my new iPhone and could use some extra re-centering. 

So, 8pm is here and I roll out the comfy new mat to sit on my knees in modified hero pose, waiting to begin my session with the three crazy yoga ladies on TV.  Let the relaxation begin!

Smelly mat.  Caustic, toxic evil smell.  “Wow, I need to air this thing out,” I’m thinking.  A distraction, but I can overcome this one.  “Omm, Alpha waves, etc.,” I begin to think. 

“Deep breath in, now exhale and roll yourself down and forward for hero rolling” says the soothing voice on TV.  Oh, gag, this mat is giving me a headache.  “Now, into cat pose, breathe in, tuck your toes under and UP into downward facing dog you go on the out breath.”  You can hear the smile in her voice.  How nice.

Three crazy yoga ladies doing a down dog pose.

I’m now in a pose that causes one to have their bootie high up, with arms and legs straight down in an inverted V shape.  My headache worsens slightly.  I’m now able to study my orange feet upside down, which got that way because of an apparently blown experiment I did earlier with a self tanner.  “Oh. My. GOSH!  I’m an Oompa Loompa!” I’m thinking.  Oops, I’ve missed the yoga lady’s vocal cue to come out of 'down dog,' so I scramble to catch up with the three crazy yoga ladies, still trying to look at my colorful feet and wondering how to make them normal again.  Looks like someone spilled golden oak wood stain on them; I match my new bamboo floors.  Apparently, I don’t do self tanning very well.

Okay, wait, I’m not relaxing.  I’m distracted.  Back to Alpha waves, breathing in and out with the movements.  At one with the universe. 

“Resting phase in the workout, with Earth Rain, resting and breathing….”

“SPLOOSH!”

What’s that noise?  “Elbows touch to go up, slicing in front of you, long back now, looking up….”

“SPLOSHHHH!”

“And, arms sliiiiide down to either side to go down, breathing out, tucking your belly into your tailbone as you breathe down.”  Ahhhh…..nice and rel….

“SPLOOOOSHHHH!”

Oh, darn, darn, darn.  I know that sound.  The automatic pool cleaner (The Shark - We’ve named it Jaws) has gotten itself stuck again and it’s tail is bombarding the French doors with gushing pool water every few seconds.  Hard to concentrate.  I’ll need to get that unstuck during the commercial break.

Okay, back to concentrating on no distractions.  “SPLOOOSSHH!”  Ommmm….deep inhale….

Commercial!  Now’s the time!  I’m up and I grab the keys from the jar near the door, which is apparently the cue for the dog to begin to hurl herself against the doggy gate between the hall and living room as I open the patio door.

"Hello, I am KC.  I am happy.
Have you seen ball?
Where is ball?

(Tangent:  My hubby and son recently installed gorgeous new bamboo flooring in the living/dining areas! Beautiful!  Then, our Lab/Shepherd mix, KC, began to instantly rip it up with her claws, doing the ‘Scooby Doo Run-in-place Scrabble’ while chasing the cat or just running about, shaking her head around like a moron, just for the sheer joy of it all.  Fun and bizarre to watch, but terribly destructive to the new flooring.  We’ve had the old baby gates up until the new door entry style gates come in.  The family has gotten lots of exercise recently, doing hurdles into the bedroom and living areas.  So, why am I doing Yoga when I’m getting all this exercise already?  Ah, yes, to RELAX!  Back to the Yoga session.)

I’ve gotten outside but I hear that the dog has breached and broken the gate and is now scrabbling the floor to bits by the French Doors, wanting out.  !#*ARG%&!  I’ll free the shark first ‘cause it just spat on me a

** What's in a Name??

"What's in a name?  That which we call a Mouse Buttock by any other name would smell as sweet."
~W. Shakespeare

Okay, here's the scoop:  I searched and searched for names for this blog that hadn't already been taken.  However, even a nonsense pairing of several random letters was already in use by someone else.  So, I just started typing in random names for fun and, hey look!, "Mouse Buttocks," (which has a nice Forrest Gump ring to it), was not already in use!  Mouse Buttocks it is....welcome to my Blog!

:o)  April

PS:  Okay, I lied.  Overnight, I became aware that Mouse Buttocks, available though it may be, is a bit too controversial to be the name of my blog.  After all, I'm not really sure that mice HAVE buttocks, though my husband would argue that, yes, they certainly do, they're just really tiny.  Then, after having THAT thought run around in my head for a bit, I imagined a tiny pair of human buttocks on a cartoon mouse and wanted to put tiny tidy-whities on the mouse mental image in my head.  I couldn't un-see it (stupid and disturbing) and had to change the name of my blog.  It will now be, "You...off the Internet!"  Thank you for your patience.