The Dutch Files

Hiya! This is Jess from Apropos of Something, Dutchy’s current tenant. My lovely host was kind enough to offer me the chance to invade her blog this week and write a guest post. How could I turn down an opportunity like that?

In her welcome post, Dutchy noted that the “About Me” page at my blog reads like a litany of calamities I’ve suffered through the years. I promise my life isn’t as tragic as it sounds when it’s all jotted down on an “About Me” page, though. One incident that Dutchy mentioned, however, is even worse than it sounds.

I’m talking about the time I got trapped in a restroom stall during The Empire Strikes Back.

I was only three-and-a-half years old when Empire hit theaters, but I was already a Star Wars fanatic (like every other little boy in America). My older cousin offered to take me to a matinee showing with her one afternoon, and I was absolutely thrilled. We arrived at the theater, got our popcorn, sat down for the movie, and everything was just perfect. Luke was there. Han was there. Darth Vader was there. All was right with the world.

Then, I had to go to the bathroom.

I told my cousin, and since I was so young, she took me with her to the ladies’ room. I went in one of the stalls, did my business, and then discovered the stall door was jammed! I tried to force it open, but no luck. She tried from the outside, as well, but I was trapped! In the ladies’ room, no less!

Like most stall doors, there was an opening of maybe a foot and a half at the bottom. My cousin sensibly suggested that I crawl out — easy enough at my size, right? No, I refused to get down on the floor. Why? Because, as I pointed out to her, bathroom floors are filthy.

I was three years old, and I was already deeply concerned about germs. That’s my childhood in a nutshell; I thought way too much about things.

She said I was just being silly, and I responded that there was no way I was going to crawl around on the floor of a public bathroom. Never. Ever. Then, to add a little emphasis, I started crying. Well, bawling to be exact. She kept trying to get the door open for another five minutes, begging me to crawl out the entire time. For my part, I kept crying.

Eventually, after about ten minutes of the whole ordeal, she finally went to get help from one of the theater employees. I was freed in short order and returned to the movie. But, I was traumatized nevertheless. To this day, I still don’t like going to the restroom during movies. Tragic, no?

Even worse, it took me another six years before I finally got to see Han and company arrive in Cloud City and meet Lando Calrissian for the first time. That’s just unacceptable.

Thanks again for letting me guest blog, Dutchy! And to Dutchy’s loyal readers, feel free to drop by my site anytime and say “Hi!”

Fridayevening I ran into one of the PFKAF I told you about some time ago. By the looks of it she was surprised to see me (or horrified, whatever…). I was walking up to my car and passed her within a few feet. She tried vigorously to ignore me, but one of her kids pointed me out to her, so she couldn’t get out of acknowledging me in some sorta way, I guess…

PFKAF: Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! How are you? *looking at stuff in my hands*… Soooooooo… you’re seeing someone again? Wow, that’s great!
DB: * blank stare * Ehm… I’m fine… Not seeing anyone though… Why would you think so?
PFKAF: Well… because ehm… you look terrific… you’ve never looked better…
DB: Oh… thanks * sarcastic look * Yeah… I guess it IS possible… Single people cán look terrific if only they make an effort…
PFKAF: Well… that and the fact that you are carrying a bottle of red wine and a DVD… I mean…
DB: Oh that? That is just part of my “Another - lonely - Fridaynight - wallowing - in - selfpity - singles - survival - package”
PFKAF: Oh right… I just thought… you know… that’s stuff you get for a couplesnight, right?
DB: Yeah, I know… us singles are a funny bunch… we tend to drink wine and watch dvd’s by ourselves … mindblowing isn’t it?

Then I I turned around in to-tal arrogance * snort* and continued walking to my car, no looking back… I don’t need “friends” like that… Nasty and ignorant and too stupid to realize it… Yeah, Bite Me..!

OK… I know many of you must have asked yourselves this very same question at some point in your life…

W.T.F. is it with that Bermuda SOCK Triangle that e.v.e.r.y single washing machine and/or dryer that I’ve used seems to have “going on”…

Doesn’t anyone ever wonder where the hell all those socks go? I mean, WTF! You put in a pair and you are left with single ones, virtually every time…

There must be some huge single-sock-mountain somewhere out there… Or zillions of socks clogging up our sewers…

Sheesh… I think the washing machine manufacturers have a secret alliance going on with sock manufacturers… It has to be that… Either that or there is a sock serial killer on the loose or some sock sex freak: a sockophile…

WHAT!!!??? Where do they go???!?!?!?! It freakin’ sucks socks!

Can’t we start some kind of sock-trading-scheme? You know, where everybody puts up pictures of the socks they have left, including their size and we can maybe try to get complete pairs amongst eachother by trading out the ones we have?

OK… I think that is the best idea I can come up with for the day… Ta!