Reunion Number Two

All new homeowners have little problems that arise with their new house, I would assume, like squeaky doors, and windows that jam. But we - that is, my wife and I - have a rather odd problem in our new house, and I was wondering if, by chance, that this problem is more common than I think.



You see, the toilet in our guest bathroom occasionally regurgitates feces, and this feature was surprisingly not included in our homeowner's contract.



Let's say that I have a bowel movement in our guest bathroom, which is quite common considering I am not allowed to have bowel movements in the main bathroom, because that's where my wife keeps important things, like 345 bottles of lotion. Anyway, I will flush the toilet, like a good husband, and everything appears to be okay in our new house.



So let's say it's the next day, and I have the urge to perform another act of defecation. I will open the lid of the toilet, and right there staring back at me, like he just went to hell and back, is yesterday's lunch, with a look that says, "Hey Mike, remember me? Do you have any friends I can play with?" And of course, I do. But that's not the point.



The point is that this is the guest bathroom, meant for guests, and my wife seems to think that any potential guests will be turned off by this feature, although I'm quite sure that any of MY guests would find this quite humorous, and would inquire as to how much I paid for this feature, and where they could get it. This is why I am not allowed to have guests over. Nevertheless, our guest bathroom has deemed us unable to have ANY people over, which is to say, it has become a real party pooper.



I think this all stems from a plumbing problem, and my wife thinks we should get this fixed, although my knowledge of plumbing begins and ends with Liquid Drano, which I have already tried. For some reason, it did not work.



So, is this a common problem? A better question would be, can you fix it? If you can. please contact me immediately. I'll be in the guest bathroom, getting reacquainted with some old friends.



Also, bring some Liquid Drano, because our door squeaks too.

Phat and all that

There is a man who lives in my development, most likely a modest, hard-working, Youth Group organizer at the local parish, who drives an SUV with a license plate that reads “Eyez Off,� which is to signify that everyone in the world, because they drive lesser vehicles than his, is not worthy of even making eye contact with his pimped-out GMAC SUV with the tinted windows. In fact, the windows are tinted so that if some crazy person actually had the audacity to lay their eyez ON his “ride,� they wouldn’t be able to see who the Youth Group leader is that is driving it. And then they would turn to stone, unable to withstand the hottness of the GMAC, to which this modest man would most likely reply, “I told you so...bitch.�



Of course, this man is not the only person who lets his vehicle do the talking. And in most of these cases, the vehicle is saying, “Look at me. I’m a jackass!�



Like the other day, while I was in the parking lot of the local supermarket, staring across from me at the word “Princess� plastered on the top of the windshield of a 1992, barely breathing Dodge Spirit. I was taken aback by the fact that an actual princess would drive such a vehicle, considering that most princesses are known for riding in the back of horse-drawn buggies, and do not work at A&P, where the “P� does NOT stand for princess, so I’m told. Another reason that I was slightly confused was because my mom used to own this exact model vehicle, and I used to drive it to high school after I got my license, leaving my poor mom with no vehicle whatsoever to get to and from her job, where she worked long hours to feed me. “This was also not the life of a princess,� I thought. But then when I saw the princess coming towards her “carriage,� with her slightly non-attractive gut hanging out above her low-rider jeans, smoking a cigarette, and talking on a cell phone, I realized that, most likely, she just wantd to be considered a princess because of her diva-like lifestyle, which most likely included milkshakes, marijuana, and boyfriends that are approximately 35 years older than her, and in jail. In fact, if the world was in correct order, THIS person would have had a license plate that read “Eyez Off,� and I would have happily obliged.



And then there is the guy who used to drive down my block while I was outside shooting hoops, with the car windshield that read “Phat and all that.� I never got the chance to meet this individual, so I’m left to assume that he was, really, phat and all that. But alas, I’ll never know for sure, unless we cross paths again, which is unlikely, considering I try not to make eye contact with any vehicle that passes, out of fear it may be the wrong one.



So it seems like the cars people drive can say a lot about them. Like, for example, I drive a 1997 Ford F-150 that is totally out of alignment, and that makes a weird and loud buzzing noise that sounds like the muffler is going to fall off whenever I press the gas pedal. I am considering placing a witty statement on my windshield that will adequately describe my personality, and how I would like to be perceived by society. I think it will say, “For sale.�

Continental Airlines: Where Passing The Buck Is Easier Than Refunding One

Hey - do you know what’s a highly underrated form of exciting entertainment? No? Well, try sitting on a mammoth plane, in the middle of a runway in Newark, New Jersey, not moving, behind 10 other mammoth planes, for 2 ½ hours because “Air Traffic Control� said so. This exercise is doubly exciting if you have a connecting flight, of which you were originally concerned how you would kill time in the airport waiting for, but now are hoping is filled with passengers looking around desperately at an empty seat, and saying things like, “Where the heck is Mike Kenny?� and “Don’t even think of taking off without Mike Kenny, Mr. Pilot!�



Unfortunately for me, that hope was futile, and I missed my connecting flight by a whopping five minutes, thanks to Continental Airlines, whose motto is, “Don’t Blame Us. We Already Have Your Money.� In retrospect, I probably should have steered clear of traveling on an airline with such a motto, but I was desperate to get to Phoenix, Arizona, where my wife was graduating from Graduate school, which is a lot of graduating for one girl to handle. She needed my help.



So there I was, in Houston’s renowned “Bush Airport,� with my friend Derrick, and nowhere to turn, except in the general direction of Continental Airlines customer service. Or a bar. We chose the latter.



After we refueled, we discovered through a customer service rep, that no more flights to Phoenix were going out that night, and that we would have to wait until the next morning to depart. I could sense the obvious concern of my wife, through the cell phone, as she insisted that I “do something about it,� although, she was unaware that I had accidentally left my plane AND my pilot’s license back at the house.



When it became obvious that we would need to stay at a hotel that night, I naively figured that Continental Airlines may be able to help us out in the matter, since, by all accounts, it was not OUR fault that our prior flight had sat on the runway longer than the “Lord of the Rings� trilogy. I was unaware however, that it was not Continental Airline’s fault either, and any blame should be directed at Air Traffic Control, who apparently do a horrible job of controlling air traffic. Then, upon further investigation, I was informed that there was actually “some kind of storm� coming from the west which caused the delay. So, as I deducted from my dealings with Continental Airlines customer service, it was actually God’s fault that we missed our connection. And God is not in the business of giving out free hotel rooms.



So, we booked a hotel (a Quality Inn, which, in their best interest, would be better off changing their name to simply “Inn�), went to a Bennigan’s in Houston (which was amazingly similar to the Bennigan’s on Rt. 1 in New Brunswick, New Jersey - “A little taste of home,� I thought), and went to a local bar for a drink. When our cab never showed up at the bar to take us back to the hotel, some random girl named Emily, after confirming we were “not psychos,� drove us back, thus providing the best service we had witnessed all day. Emily, as it turned out, did not work for Continental Airlines.