The floaty ball's connected to the...

I've been having an issue in the bathroom for several weeks now. And as you may have figured out from Male Restroom Etiquette and some of my other writings, I do not always adhere to the old adage, "What happens in the john stays in the john." So prepare yourselves.

Some time ago, I went to flush and--how shall I put this--it didn't go down. The whole swirling/draining mechanism came to a complete stop. Through trial and error, I found that if I held the handle down for approximately 4 to 7 seconds, the flush cycle would complete. And so, this is how I've been living for several months now--holding down the handle to ensure a full and proper flush. This went on for so long that whenever I used a toilet that flushed properly, it caught me off guard.

Then Friday, more trouble erupted. The water wouldn't stop running after a flush--a not uncommon problem in toilet circles. So I did what any normal person would do. I jiggled the handle. And waited.

It kept running.

So what do I do when something goes wrong around the house? Eventually, I call the property manager. But not before I have a look at the situation myself.

Do I consider myself a handyman? Let me put it this way: I do not. Not in the class of a Bob Vila, Al Borland, or Handyman Negri anyway.

But I am a man. Therefore I possess an unshakable, innate belief that I am equipped with the ability and know-how to fix any device, grill any meat, and find any place on Earth without asking for directions. And so, I took the lid off the back of the toilet and looked inside. Also known as, pretending to know what I'm doing.

You may think a toilet is nothing more than a base, a seat, a lid, a hole, a tank, and sparkling blue liquid that magically fills the bowl when you flush. But the inner workings of this magnificent invention are as intricate and complex as any simple lever or pulley machine.

As I opened the lid, I saw the familiar floaty ball, the chain, the bendy tube, and the stopper thingy. (These are all highly technical terms. No need to concern yourself with them at this point.) My keen eye noticed that one arm of the stopper thingy was broken. Aha!

Now what to do? I knew the property manager wouldn't come out for something like this until Monday. So it was either run up a $200 water bill, cut the water off and go to a public restroom anytime I had to go, or plunge my hands into the bacteria-infested waters and try to fix it myself. *shudder* Talk about a germophobic nightmare. I'd rather lick a shoe.

It wasn't an easy decision. But the Taco Bell bathroom really wasn't all that bad.

I'm kidding. I went to Wal-Mart and found a stopper thingy, which they call a flapper--layman's terms, I'm sure. Then I came home, got out one of the four or five tool sets Dad has given me for Christmases past, and entered the bathroom, which had just become my personal workshop.

Not surprisingly, or very surprisingly, I was able to affix the flapper to the crapper with fleeting aplomb and only nominal water spillage. I didn't even have to use any of my tools. Just some scissors.

And who knows, maybe in thirty or forty years, my hands will feel clean again.

"I washed my hands in muddy water. Washed my hands, but they didn't come clean..."

Bacheloronomics

I hope and trust you are all having a grand Columbus Day. If you're like me, it's not much different from any other day. No day off work. No parades. No TVLand marathon. No delicious sugar cookies shaped like the Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria.

Columbus Day is sort of the Tito of holidays. Not all that remarkable. Nobody's favorite. But as far as we know, it is still technically a holiday. Oh well, I guess that's what happens when you discover a continent by accident.

I considered recapping my week for you today. For instance, last Wednesday I got spit up on for the first time ever. Then Thursday, I sank a 45 foot putt, the longest of my career. But I figure you've had enough baby and golf stories, at least until tomorrow.

Instead, I want to share with you some tips for saving money in these uncertain economic times. Things I've practiced that have helped me to scrape by for umpteen years on my own now. Not obvious things, like selling your plasma. But more subtle ideas that you can use, say for instance, if you've already reached your 12 times per year plasma donation maximum.

Tip #1 - Ignore expiration dates

We are taught in this country, likely by the biased media, to throw food away if it has expired. Well that's fine if there's a money tree growing in your front yard, or if you go to the grocery store more than once a month. But what about the rest of us?

Expiration dates are nothing more than a way for food companies to get you to buy more often, and probably to avoid litigation as well. An expiration date is like a little ultimatum saying, "Eat me by this date or it is so over!" You wouldn't stand for that from your significant other, so why stand for it from your dairy?

This weekend alone I had a hot dog on buns that were six days past expiration and cereal with milk that was two days past expiration. My rule is, the nose knows.

We all have five to seven senses. Use them! When we're injured we feel pain and curse. When we need to communicate, we open our mouths and speak or grunt. When we hear Celine Dion, we feel pain and curse. And when food has gone bad, we can smell it.

Tip #2 - Do a supper scavenger hunt

How often do you find yourself in this situation? It's 8 or 9 o'clock at night. You don't feel like putting clothes on to go get something to eat, but you haven't been to the grocery store in a long, long time so you figure there's probably nothing to cook.

Well, you just might be surprised. By scrounging around in the cabinets, I'll bet you can come up with a decent meal from things you already have. It's kinda your own personal episode of Survivor. Or maybe not. I've never actually watched the show.

For example, in my cabinet right now (I just went and looked), I have some penne, a thing of syrup, a few sunflower seeds, some unopened Valentine's candy, some peanut butter that "expired" February 23rd, and some corn.

Now, from this... let's see... I could easily make... hmm... Well anyway, you get the idea, I'm sure. Let's move on.

Tip #3 - Never turn down anything from your parents or a free meal from anyone

In my early bachelor days, some of my favorite memories are when I'd be looking thru mostly barren cabinets containing only peanut butter and corn, and Mom or Dad would call asking if I wanted to come over and eat supper.

I learned early on to never turn down a free meal, and here's why. By eating one free meal, you have immediately contributed to a fiscal surplus. Even if it's not the best meal, or not particularly your favorite food. You can eat better food another day, but you can never get back the money you just saved.

As a general rule, parents want to help us. No, they need to help us. Giving makes them feel good. And we should not be so selfish as to deny them that good feeling by not accepting their gifts, or monthly allowance.

So never turn down anything from your parents. And never turn down a free meal from anyone. Ever. Unless, of course, the person preparing it has some sort of massive germophobic violations going on. No amount of money is worth that.

Tip #4 - With laundry, less is more

I do laundry as infrequently as possible. Basically, as long as I have clean underwear, I don't see a reason to do a wash. I'm all about wearing jeans two or three times. And while this has more to do with laziness than frugality, surely there are financial benefits as well.

Do you have any idea how much electricity it takes to run a dryer for one sixty minute cycle? Well, me neither, but it's probably a lot. My suggestion would be to buy up as many pairs of underwear as your drawers will hold, and let everything else go.

Of course, you might occasionally run into minor problems down the road, say if a shirt you want to wear doesn't happen to be clean. That's why I also suggest leaving laundry you think you might wear again lying around on the floor. That way, it doesn't get that musty, stinky hamper smell in it. Because once it's buried in the hamper, all the Febreze and Drakkar in the world won't get that out. Trust me.

Less laundry means less electricity, less costly detergent to purchase, and also less folding and ironing. And that means more fun for everyone.

Also, in the future when you see the bachelor, don't be so quick to judge his fashion sense. Most likely, he's wearing the only thing he could find that was clean, or had only been worn once.

"I ain't goin' down on the border with you tonight, drinking tequila and taking chances on our lives. All the women are crazy. They like to party 'til daylight. On second thought, if I can find a clean shirt, I might..."

A mother and son discuss the important things in life

A week or so ago, I was driving with Mom in the car. We were coming back from somewhere, discussing the typical mother/son fare. You know, work, family, the new Steak Out we're getting (booyah!), last night's Nancy Grace. And then...

Bone: "I still haven't been to the new Walgreens."

Momma Bone: "You haven't?"

Bone: "No."

Momma Bone: "I go in there all the time to use the bathroom."

Bone (a bit confused and on the verge of laughter): "What?!"

Momma Bone: "Oh yeah, they've got the nicest bathroom in town."

Yep. Now you know where I get it. Up until that moment, I didn't even know where I got it. We Bones are very particular about our restroom experiences. And one more piece of the puzzle of why I am who I am falls neatly into place.

Actually, that was excellent information. I mean, it's good to know these things. Maybe I should start compiling a list. It could be like those websites that list the cheapest gas in each city. Except mine would list the most exquisite public restrooms.

"And heaven help us always to remember, that the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world..."

"You can all sleep sound tonight..."

I went to the little shop of horrors Wednesday to get a haircut. The LSOH takes both appointments and walk-ins. Being a guy, I of course was a walk-in.

As I waited, a woman in one of the chairs was coughing up a lung, and not even pretending to cover her mouth. The stylist said to her two different times, "You probably need to get some anti-biotics for that." Now I can't say for certain, but it's probably not a good sign when the person who cuts your hair feels compelled to give you medical advice.

In between coughs, this modern-day Typhoid Mary was going on about how she'd been coughing for weeks and couldn't "get anything to come up." OK, that's not gross at all. The worst and most fearful part of it all was that there were only two people working, which meant there was a 50% chance I would be sitting right where she was.

So there I sat, terrified I was going to get that chair right after her and probably contract pneumonia or lupus or something and die a painful, unpleasant, phlegm-filled death. I tried to act non-chalant, though I would have been about as comfortable waiting on a vasectomy. I contemplated leaving, just getting up and saying, "Tell you what, I'll just come back later." I thought about asking if they had any Lysol and spraying the area down immediately after the germophile had vacated the premises.

Fortunately another chair opened before she was done. Disaster averted. But what if it hadn't? Or what happens the next time? Am I gonna have to start carrying a can of Lysol around everywhere I go? And from that last question, an idea was born. The idea for a new superhero: Lysol Man.

It could be a whole new ad campaign. It's exactly what this world needs. A germ-fighting, non-violent superhero. He would wear a Lysol-blue spandex outfit with a big "L" on front. Or better yet, a picture of a germ with a slash across it. Yes! Picture this:

(The setting: A classroom.)

There are three kids at a table. One kid turns to the camera, scrunches up his nose, fans his hand in front of his face, and says, "I think Johnny forgot to take a bath again."

Suddenly, bursting thru the classroom door, it's Lysol Man! As he enters, an announcer with a deep, booming voice says, "Lysol Man! Da da daaaaah!" (a la Trojan Man).

Whipping a can of Powder Fresh Scent Lysol out of his belt, Lysol Man speaks, "Never fear, my little germophobe. Lysol Man is here." He proceeds to saturate the area.

The kids cheer, "Yay! Lysol Man!"

Lysol Man jogs out of the room, stopping on the way to kiss the attractive, voluptuous teacher. After he leaves the teacher asks, "Who can kill 99.9 percent of germs, class?"

The kids answer in unison, "Lysol Man can!"

(fade to black)

And who better to be Lysol Man than me? A germophobe fighting germophiles. Of course! It's all so clear to me now. Why did I not see this before?

By day, he lives among humans as mild-mannered, unassuming blogger Bone. But when germophiles strike, he slips his taut-pre-teen-Swedish-boy body into form-fitting spandex and turns into Lysol Man. Armed with only his trusty can of Lysol, an itchy trigger finger, and super-keen street sense, Lysol Man travels the globe in search of germs, bacteria, and malodorous emanations.

LY-SOL-MAAAAN!!! DA-DA-DAAAAA!

"Believe it or not, I'm walking on air. I never thought I could feel so free. Flying away on a wing and a prayer. Who could it be? Believe it or not it's just me..."

Urinalysis: Male Restroom Etiquette

Picture the following... You find yourself at the airport, with an impending renal requirement. After walking past several gates, you finally see the restrooms. The urinator's oasis. You rush inside. Fortunately, it's not crowded. There are maybe 15 wall stalls, and only a couple are taken. You position yourself at the second stall from the left, four urinals down from your nearest fellow leaker, unzip, and let it go. Ahhhh. Suddenly, without warning, midway through your discharge, your personal space is invaded. Without any thought for common sense and everything that is good and homophobic, someone sets up camp at the far left urinal, right next to you. What the freak?!

This situation happened to me recently. Twice! I had to fight my natural instinct to yell out "What the crap?!" to the offending parties. As a friend of mine said to me when I relayed this story to him, "You can't pee with someone right next to you!" Indeed! Of course, it's much too painful to try and cut off the flow and move, but it was all I could do not to switch stalls in midstream. These events have prompted me to compose this entry.

The rules
There are unspoken rules of men's room etiquette. I don't know how we know them, we just do. Well, most of us anyway. Some are common sense. Some, otherwise. I will now attempt to acquaint you with some of the more important rules and procedures for the very natural process of urinating in a public forum.

Rule #1. Always, ALWAYS leave a buffer zone of at least one urinal between you and the nearest peer. Always. Simple enough? Apparently not for the dysfunctional pee people I encountered. I will allow some leeway on this rule if and only if there is some sort of partition between urinals. But even then, skip a space if at all possible.

Rule #2. If it is impossible to skip at least one urinal, then check for an open stall. Yes, that's right the good old traditional sit-down toilet. Most of these are fully-enclosed, except for perhaps a foot or two of space at the bottom. If no stall is available, then I recommend leaving and coming back at a later time. Although waiting is acceptable, as long as you wait over by the sink. Don't wait directly behind someone who is doing his business. I mean, really, most of us have been in prison at one time or another, and it's just a little uncomfortable, that's all.

Rule #3. Once you're at your station, employ the three 'S' method of public urination (snuggle, straight, silent). Get in close, look straight ahead, and don't speak. No one likes a loosey-goosey-necked urinator. Don't look around. No one likes a long-distance bomber either. Get as close as possible to the porcelain without touching it. And don't make small talk. It's not a social event. It's a bodily function. Besides, you should be more worried about what you would do if someone were to steal your wallet right at this very moment. Because really, this would be the opportune time, don't you think? (That's what I always think about when I am peeing anyway.)

Addendum A. (The Stall Clause). If you're using the toilet... defacating... and you get done. Wait until the restroom is completely clear before exiting and washing up. You've just done that, and we don't want to put a face with the odor, Stinky. Really.

I guess that will do for now.

Examples
Next, let's look at a couple of examples. These are situations that you might very well encounter, and how best to handle them.

Situation 1: There are five urinals and three stalls. Urinals #2 and #5 are occupado. What do you do?

Answer: Since it would be impossible to skip a urinal on each side, check the stalls. If you can't find an open stall, you can pretend to wash your hands until a urinal comes open, or just leave and come back in a little while. If urinals 1 and 5 would have been occupied, you could have safely and properly used urinal 3.

Also, as a side note here, let me say: Beware of the stinky stall surprise. For some reason, people either don't like to flush public toilets, or don't know how. If you encounter this unpleasant stink bomb, exit the stall immediately and find another appropriate location.

Situation 2: There are three urinals. The far left one is occupied. The other two are open.

Answer: This one is easy. Use the far right urinal. For added protection, you might also employ a 30 degree turn, what I like to call the 'privacy turn', away from the other urinals. This works especially well on an end urinal.

Reader questions
Now for some reader questions. Or questions that I made up and attributed to readers. Whichever.

One readers asks: "Bone, what if I enter an empty restroom? Is there a best choice of urinals?"

I'm glad you asked. Really, you're only going to be in there for a short time, hopefully, unless you have some sort of problem. So it doesn't matter so much. Still, to be safe, choose an end urinal. Then, if someone were to violate the one-urinal buffer zone rule, you could still do the 30 degree turn and get a measure of privacy. Also, sometimes the sinks are next to the urinals. If this is the case, choose a urinal away from the sink.

Another reader wants to know, "What about the restrooms that have large tub-like basins to pee into, Bone? What's proper etiquette there?"

Well, I know exactly what you're talking about. And this is pretty much a judgment call. First, I would try to find an unoccupied basin. If there are none, look for a stall. Still no luck? It might be possible to urinate in the same basin as somone else. It really all depends on the basin size. If there's any chance your 'streams' could cross, then you definitely want to avoid that. How awkward would that be. I mean, if you're gonna do that, you might as well hold hands. Even if no one is there, always position yourself near one end of the basin. Similarly with the restrooms that just have streams of water running down the wall into a drain (I hate those), it's a judgment call. A good rule of thumb always is to allow as much distance as possible.

Summary
I hope we can all see from these points that I've tried to make that when a man enters a public restroom, the choice of stalls is not some haphazard, random, close-your-eyes-and-hope-for-the-best-result process. That's OK in the bedroom. But not here. This is much more important.

The renality of it is this: It's a logical process. And it's really not that difficult. With apologies to Janet Jackson, we all live in a urine nation. So let's make the best of it. You can't just go anywhere. However, if you just apply yourself and follow these simple guidelines, you too can engage in proper public urination. And that means a better, safer, more pees-ful world for all of us.

And be looking for my future diatribes, including:
Outdoor urination: When, where, and which bushes are prickly?
High and low urinals: The long and short of it
Proper flushing technique: The kick flush (You can always burn your shoes later)
Proper handwashing: The paper towel first technique
Hand blowers: Your patience is rewarded

Hope you all have a wonderful weekend! Big game this week. Come on, Bama.

"I came along. I wrote a song for you, and all the things you do. And it was called yellow..."