Who Put The Assy In Classy?
So my wife and I were away this weekend, sans kids. We took a trip with good friends, to Newport, Rhode Island. Newport has a pretty darn good Folk Festival every year. We've been to it a few times now. In my opinion, there's nothing more relaxing than sinking into a low back beach chair and surveying the landscape of aging lesbians, dancing to songs of Anti-American protest, performed by Folk legends, I'd assumed were long dead. Good times...
The spirit of the weekend was carefree and earthy. The smell of horseshit and Patchouli Oil rose high above the masses in a cloud of hippie dust. There were tambourines and Falafel as far as the eye could see.
I was born in 1970, just missing the 60's and I was too young to remember the ending of the Vietnam War, Kent State and all of the other iconic moments of protest and social unrest. But I am old enough now to realize that Joan Baez is still a pretty hot piece of ass, as far as I can tell...
I whole-heartily embraced the carefree atmosphere. I didn't even wear cologne on the second day of the festival, out of respect for my new found hippie comrades. In perspective, this alone is astounding. I am from Long Island. I have religiously worn some form of cologne since my junior year of High School. The smell of freedom was potent enough for me that weekend, my friend. But there was one thing that took me by surprise; Something that completely stood in stark contrast to the toned down, non-materialistic vibe that I had succumb to throughout my time at the Festival.
This blasphemy!
After a day at the festival, I spent a bit of time relaxing in my friend's hotel room. It was a beautiful room right on the beach with a gorgeous rooftop terrace. It was far superior to our modest accommodations at the local Quality Inn (We chose the Quality Inn over the Comfort Inn, because we prefer quality over comfort.) down the road and a jarring juxtaposition to the asstastic Festival grounds, laden with Porto Potties that I had become accustomed to in the days prior.
After a few post festival cocktails with my buddy, I parted from the sun drenched roof deck in search of the water closet. I'm not sure if it was the Vodka and Vitamin Water, that through me for a loop or if my inner white trash reared it's ugly head but whatever it was, confused the hell out of me.
Entering the Bathroom; My Inner Monologue:
Self - "What is this curious, tiny, porcelain structure that rests beside the shitter?"
Classy Self - "You redneck moron! Everyone knows that classy joints like this have a pissing sink."
Self - "A pissing sink? I don't understand?"
Classy Self - "Yes, shit for brains. A pissing sink is like a urinal but way fancier. You can still piss in it but you turn on the faucet while you are peeing to wash away the mess. Why do you think there's no mint flavored hockey pucks?"
Self - "Ahhh, I get it. That's so cool. I guess I'll go in the pissing sink then..."
Cultured Self - "NO! You IDIOT! Don't listen to that jerkoff. He's about as classy as Roseanne Barr doing Shakespeare in the Park."
Self - "Holy crap. You scared the shit out of me. Don't sneak up on me like that."
Cultured Self - "Get a grip. I'm trying to save you from embarrassing yourself in front of your friends."
Self - "OK. If this isn't a pissing sink, than what is it? And hurry up, I'm gonna pee my pants in a second."
Cultured Self - "That my friend, is a transition sink."
Self - "A transition sink? That makes absolutely no sense to me."
Cultured Self - "Of course it doesn't. You've lived a sheltered life. Have you ever even been to France?"
Self - "Well, no but..."
Cultured Self - "Butt Hole is more like it. Allow me to enlighten you, my Long Island Loser. A transition sink is a very hygienic way to limit the transfer of germs after defecation."
Self - "Defecation?"
Cultured Self - "Pooping, dumbass!"
Self - "Right. Sorry."
Cultured Self - "After you do your business on the bowl, you reach over to the transition sink and cleanse your dirty paws before you touch everything else in site. This way, no germs are transferred to the flush handle, the doorknob or anything else in the restroom. Cleanliness is next to Godliness, so they say."
Self - "That's Genius! I can't believe I almost pissed in the transition sink. I'm such an idiot."
After relieving myself, I walk back out to the terrace and compliment my buddy on his fancy pants powder room.
Me - "Dude, Awesome shitter. Can't believe you guys have a transitions sink to boot."
Buddy - "What the fuck is a transition sink?"
Me - "Uh, nevermind."
For those of you out there that have never been to France and have no idea how to use a Bidet... I've wrangled these 8 easy steps, courtesy of Wikipedia, via the link below.
How to use a Bidet: 8 Steps (With Pictures)
Godspeed. May the French never have me Out-Numbered...
The spirit of the weekend was carefree and earthy. The smell of horseshit and Patchouli Oil rose high above the masses in a cloud of hippie dust. There were tambourines and Falafel as far as the eye could see.
I was born in 1970, just missing the 60's and I was too young to remember the ending of the Vietnam War, Kent State and all of the other iconic moments of protest and social unrest. But I am old enough now to realize that Joan Baez is still a pretty hot piece of ass, as far as I can tell...
I whole-heartily embraced the carefree atmosphere. I didn't even wear cologne on the second day of the festival, out of respect for my new found hippie comrades. In perspective, this alone is astounding. I am from Long Island. I have religiously worn some form of cologne since my junior year of High School. The smell of freedom was potent enough for me that weekend, my friend. But there was one thing that took me by surprise; Something that completely stood in stark contrast to the toned down, non-materialistic vibe that I had succumb to throughout my time at the Festival.
This blasphemy!
After a day at the festival, I spent a bit of time relaxing in my friend's hotel room. It was a beautiful room right on the beach with a gorgeous rooftop terrace. It was far superior to our modest accommodations at the local Quality Inn (We chose the Quality Inn over the Comfort Inn, because we prefer quality over comfort.) down the road and a jarring juxtaposition to the asstastic Festival grounds, laden with Porto Potties that I had become accustomed to in the days prior.
After a few post festival cocktails with my buddy, I parted from the sun drenched roof deck in search of the water closet. I'm not sure if it was the Vodka and Vitamin Water, that through me for a loop or if my inner white trash reared it's ugly head but whatever it was, confused the hell out of me.
Entering the Bathroom; My Inner Monologue:
Self - "What is this curious, tiny, porcelain structure that rests beside the shitter?"
Classy Self - "You redneck moron! Everyone knows that classy joints like this have a pissing sink."
Self - "A pissing sink? I don't understand?"
Classy Self - "Yes, shit for brains. A pissing sink is like a urinal but way fancier. You can still piss in it but you turn on the faucet while you are peeing to wash away the mess. Why do you think there's no mint flavored hockey pucks?"
Self - "Ahhh, I get it. That's so cool. I guess I'll go in the pissing sink then..."
Cultured Self - "NO! You IDIOT! Don't listen to that jerkoff. He's about as classy as Roseanne Barr doing Shakespeare in the Park."
Self - "Holy crap. You scared the shit out of me. Don't sneak up on me like that."
Cultured Self - "Get a grip. I'm trying to save you from embarrassing yourself in front of your friends."
Self - "OK. If this isn't a pissing sink, than what is it? And hurry up, I'm gonna pee my pants in a second."
Cultured Self - "That my friend, is a transition sink."
Self - "A transition sink? That makes absolutely no sense to me."
Cultured Self - "Of course it doesn't. You've lived a sheltered life. Have you ever even been to France?"
Self - "Well, no but..."
Cultured Self - "Butt Hole is more like it. Allow me to enlighten you, my Long Island Loser. A transition sink is a very hygienic way to limit the transfer of germs after defecation."
Self - "Defecation?"
Cultured Self - "Pooping, dumbass!"
Self - "Right. Sorry."
Cultured Self - "After you do your business on the bowl, you reach over to the transition sink and cleanse your dirty paws before you touch everything else in site. This way, no germs are transferred to the flush handle, the doorknob or anything else in the restroom. Cleanliness is next to Godliness, so they say."
Self - "That's Genius! I can't believe I almost pissed in the transition sink. I'm such an idiot."
After relieving myself, I walk back out to the terrace and compliment my buddy on his fancy pants powder room.
Me - "Dude, Awesome shitter. Can't believe you guys have a transitions sink to boot."
Buddy - "What the fuck is a transition sink?"
Me - "Uh, nevermind."
For those of you out there that have never been to France and have no idea how to use a Bidet... I've wrangled these 8 easy steps, courtesy of Wikipedia, via the link below.
How to use a Bidet: 8 Steps (With Pictures)
Godspeed. May the French never have me Out-Numbered...
what have i gotten myself into?
ReplyDeleteA transition sink!!! LMAO!!!
ReplyDeleteLove bidets and remember quite well the first time I saw and used one which I will not describe here but let's just say I followed the "8 Steps" without having to mop up too much water on the floor.
BTW, France isn't the only country whose bathrooms feature bidets.
Great post, as usual. Love your conversations with Classy Self and Cultured Self; more, more.
it's UPPER WHITE TRASH, not inner white trash. it just sounds fancier. and i thought that thing was called a Douche Dipper?
ReplyDeletePeople tell me bidets are great... I'll take their word for it. Beside, I get bidets and beignets mixed up. Cleaning your #$@ with a French pastry is inadvisable.
ReplyDeleteWow, I'm rubbing my eyes, like I just stumbled out into the sun, from the darkness of the movie house.( Green is gold -snort-). Mostly from crying, partly from squinting at tutorial pics . I laughed till crying at your encounter with a bidet. The tutorial, on the other hand, was disturbing and confusing. The mental pictures it painted, of a man, pants to his knees, trying to straddle the bidet, will haunt me forever, or at least an hour or so... lol
ReplyDeletecongratulations big brother, now use it like the french do!
ReplyDeleteDude, before I kick the can, I want a "transition" pot in my crib. Hilarious post! Dude, I can't keep up with your voracious blogging pace. Slow the hell down!
ReplyDeleteYou may have just started a new bathroom feature, you better trademark that shit right now
ReplyDeleteI had no idea there was such a vast array of ass maintenance out there. Frightening indeed.
ReplyDeleteWe have one in our bathroom. My 2 year old uses it as his sink. It also comes in handy when I wipe my cheeks raw from having the squirts.
ReplyDeleteI bet your mind would have been a lot clearer about the transition sink if only you had a blueberry along with the vodka and vitamin water.
ReplyDeleteonly 8 steps! I thought it was more complicated! Glad u guys had fun!
ReplyDeleteNice. Hysterical. You should come to Chicago. I will take you to my friend's home. She has an electronic toilet that has jets to wash both front and back and will blow air to dry you off. The seat is heated of course. Everyone who has been there has commented on her master commode. Of course, as all fine pieces of German engineering that cost the price of a small, white child, it can be found in its own privately enclosed commode room.
ReplyDeletePerfect start to my day, hell to any day...Kudos!
ReplyDeleteI was looking for that Classy Assy in pics though LOL
These dibets are for people to lazy to wipe their ass...right?
ReplyDeleteI actually did use the Bidet before I left. (Too graphic to write about. Too much hair...) It's actually amazing. The craziest thing is that I didn't even need to dry off after. It's an easy air dry. Definitely think the world would be a happier place if everyone had a squeaky clean A-hole.
ReplyDeleteA baby wipe is a good substitute when a bidet is not available.
ReplyDeleteThis article was funny because of how you wrote it, and it actually taught me how to use it.
I'd seen bidets but never understood how to use them.
Love, mom
Vous êtes un Idiot américain!
ReplyDeleteP.S. Your mom kicks ass!
ReplyDeleteTo frickin' funny! Not everyone carries their computer into the fancy-schmancy water closet so they may not be able to look up this information in the most timely manner. What they really need next to the bidet is an instruction manual. No flimsy paper manual either. No, it's got to be wrapped in leather with gold corners and lettering on the outside - like a menu at a fancy restaurant.
ReplyDeleteI have actually had a bidet in one of my houses. They are a good idea, but too impractical - anything that you can not use without soaking yourself\clothes is not fit for purpose.
ReplyDeleteOurs got more use as an ad hoc foot spa!
I found a great use for bidets while staying at a hotel in Italy near a beach. I had to shave my legs, and there was no tub, and it's awkward in the shower, so . . .
ReplyDeleteThe travel agent on the Cunard Line finds it strange that I asked for a bidet, but that's his problem!
That smell wasn't the smell of horseshit and Patchouli Oil. It was the smell of hippies who haven't bathed since Nixon resigned.
ReplyDeleteI have been to France and seen authentic bidets, but I had no tutorial to help me so I stayed well away and cleaned my ass with the fancy pink toilet paper instead.
ReplyDeleteI'm shaking with laughter! I loved your conversations with your various selves. The first time I saw a bidet I was young and had not a clue. Thinking back, it was hysterical having Mom explain to us snot-nosed kids what a bidet was. She needed the tutorial!
ReplyDeletehmm.... you've got interesting post here.. and entertaining ha ha ha
ReplyDeletehttp://thetstepheniemeyertwilight.blogspot.com/
I can't believe you know your step-mother, Monique, who is French and you didn't know what a bidet was. Shame, but a good article. Love, Papa.
ReplyDeleteFantastic blog...and it was a pleasure to be the buddy with you in newport and the hotel room with the bidet...
ReplyDeleteYou mastered the Bidet young grasshopper, now expand your horizons even further - the Asian squat toilet!
ReplyDeleteso thats how you spell Patchouli Oil?! i had no idea. (but i am quite sure Kavya Shivashankar can certainly spell it). i think i bathed in Drakkar Noir when i was in High School. Although i felt so much preppier when i switched to the Polo Green bottle (hey, i was from Northport, not Commack).
ReplyDeleteI followed you here from Dad Gone Mad...and LMAO!! Sounds like that could have been a converstaion I would ahve had too, in a Hotel in Heidelberg,FRG back in 1985!!
ReplyDeleteMy redneck self exclaimed out loud to a friend..."What the hell, a urinal for midgets?" We knew better and exploded into fits of laughter. Eventually, we learned what it was for. No internet or google then, either.
PS Could not get typepad recognized.
defendUSA is my name