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The Good, the Bad, and the ‘What the Hell Are You Doing, Dude?!’

Have you ever done something, and then wondered exactly where you stood, and looked up, and realized you were still on the good side of ‘the line’? I mean really stood back and taken stock, and decided that you were in the right, that you’d done nothing questionable, and that you could sleep with a clear conscience? Maybe you had a little doubt — maybe you crept near the line — but you were undoubtedly on solid ground? Ever had a moment like that?

And more importantly, what did you do then? Did you stop there, secure in your decision? Or did you go just a little bit further, pushing the envelope until you looked up again and realized to your horror that ‘the line’ was then behind you? That you’d crossed over to the dark side, gone too far, and done one of those things that ‘people just don’t do’?

And, again, what came next? Did you decide to cut your losses at that point, ashamed and chagrined? Did you learn your lesson, or did you go still further? Once over the line, did you throw caution to the wind and see just how heinous you could be? Once you’ve shocked and disgusted those around you, why stop there, right?

Right. At least, that’s how it seems to go for me. At some level, I’m dimly aware that I’m out of line, and should put on the brakes… but the rest of me is plugging away, full steam ahead. Sometimes, I just don’t seem to be able to stop myself.

And so, for your perverted amusement, I offer up these examples of a few of my Good, my Bad, and my ‘Dude, what the fuck?‘ moments. See for yourself how I get near hot water, and then in hot water, and finally just cook myself altogether. It’s not pretty, folks. Strap in; here we go.

Good: Driving to work on Thursday, I smiled as I passed a ‘mammogram van’.

Bad: I couldn’t help giggling as I thought that it would be better called a ‘booby bus’.

Dude, WTF?: I nearly hit a lamppost as I considered whether I could get away with driving a ‘mammo-gropy van’, and telling the women who came in, ‘Hey, it’s not my fault; you should have read the sign more carefully.‘

Good: I have been known, on occasion, to watch an episode of the Powerpuff Girls on Cartoon Network.

Bad: I sometimes quote lines from the show at inappropriate times, notably crying out, ‘You big fat poopy doo-doo-head! during a meeting at work last week.

Dude, WTF?: I have, on the weekends, taken to dressing like one of the girls myself. Bubbles is my favorite, of course, but I look sooo much better in green, so I usually go the Buttercup route. Whoosh!

Good: After dinner, I sometimes have a dessert of low-fat ice cream.

Bad: My wife might be a bit unsettled to know that I eat my portion right from the carton.

Dude, WTF?: She might be further…um, miffed to know that I don’t actually use a scoop. Or a spoon. Or even my hands. Um, yeah… let’s move on.

Good: It’s probably not so bad that the ‘Froggy Went a-Courtin‘ song stuck in my head after I heard Bobby Hill sing it on King of the Hill a few weeks ago.

Bad: It’s not so good that it somehow morphed in my head into ‘Froggy Went a-Crotchin‘, which then turned up in the blog a few days later.

Dude, WTF?: It’s definitely unhealthy that I’m still thinking about it, and now have a whole chorus worked out:

‘Froggy went a-crotchin, his pants did ride, uh-huh, uh-huh;

Uh-huh.‘

And, clearly, it’s even worse that I just told you about it. *sigh*

Good: Like most men, I pee standing up, even though that leaves me open to the possibility of splashage around the toilet.

Bad: Like a lot of men, I might — in a dire emergency — resort to taking a surreptitious whiz in the shower. But only if I really have to.

Dude, WTF?: Like some men I know… no, I can’t back that up. Look, just don’t eat anything that’s been in our vegetable steamer, all right? Trust me on this one.

Good: I work with two native Spanish speakers.

Bad: I naively believe that my two semesters of high school Espanol allow me to ‘shoot the shit’ with them.

Dude, WTF?: Yesterday, in the middle of their conversation, I blurted out:

‘Su cucarachas trabajan en el bano. Ay, chihuahua!‘

Loosely translated, I think it means ‘Your cockroaches work in the bathroom. Hey, dog!‘ Or something.

Good: After many, many trying episodes, I finally broke my door key off in the front lock tonight. Damn!

Bad: In a quixotic fit of optimism, I took the lock apart, but I couldn’t get the key fragment out. Shit!

Dude, WTF?: Without really thinking about it, I reassembled the lock… and now can’t get it out to replace it. Fuck!

Anyway, that’s just a tiny peek into the scary world that is Chez Charlie. Just be glad you don’t have to go through the shit that I do. Now besides all the rest, I’ve got to get a locksmith in here to help replace the front door lock tomorrow. I just hope he doesn’t speak Spanish… or ask for ice cream, or steamed broccoli. Man, when did my life get so goddamned complicated?