Chopin and Show'n-a-shan

Before you start to read this, I should warn you: this is going to be a really weird post. I'm just thinking a lot about bathrooms at the moment, and this post definitely reflects that.

OK.

When we were younger, my sister Kelly told me that every time she flushed the toilet, she thought in her head the following chant: "Show'n-a-shannnnn-ba-da-dam-bam-bammm-aw-aw-aw-aw-aw! Boom, ba da doom boom. WOO!-bang." Try and say it. That's what a toilet flush sounds like. Ever since then, I have also heard this chant in my head every time I flush.

Today, I went to the bathroom in the library. Fourth floor, outside of the LRC. For those of you that aren't aware, the front room of this bathroom can be a magical, posh room of luxury if you want to take a nap, and is completely furbished with couches, pillows, and arm chairs. I myself have been there on many occasions between classes to catch a quick snooze, and I've always had a pleasant experience (barring the time I was rudely awaken by someone with explosive diarrhea). However, if you are not going there for a nap, and instead to use the facilities, you might feel like you are walking into an important audition, which you will give from a confessional booth instead of from a stage.

I was going there to use the facilities.

I walked in to find three of the couches occupied with sleeping girls, one of the armchairs occupied by a girl studiously doing her homework, and the other armchair invitingly unoccupied. Duly noted. I made my way to the confessional booth bathroom stall, acutely aware of the heavy silence. As I walked in and closed the door, not a sound could be heard other than the irregular scratching of pen on paper. I'm sure all the girls in the heavenly foyer area were concentrating on their own activities, but I was squeamishly diffident to the idea of four utter strangers knowing exactly how I spent the next minute or so.

Let's just be clear: I've never had a shy bladder. My sister cannot pee in a cup to save her life, contrary to sound science that states that the contents of four water bottles all consumed in quick succession must come out one way or another. I, on the other hand, apparently have a closer relationship to camels than most people and don't need much water. This is nice for many reasons--for example, I hardly ever get thirsty, and I don't have to carry a water bottle around with me. However, there are also a few downsides, the most relevant being that pretty soon after I do have a drink of water, I had better be on the lookout for a bathroom. So I've never really suffered from Kelly's complex.

But today, as I sat in my stall, wishing the girls in the foyer would kindly put in their headphones for a minute, I would like to think that I at least felt some of her pain. It wasn't all bad, though; because of this, I thought of a wonderful idea.

Classical music should always be playing in the restroom. I mean seriously....why are bathrooms so quiet anyway? No one wants to hear everyone else doing their thing. I appreciate such innovations as loud hand dryers, clunky paper towel dispensers, and over-eager automatic flushers that help eliminate some of the awkwardness. But day after day, because none of these modern conveniences exist in the primitive bathroom by the LRC, girls are forced to shuffle abashedly from their stalls past four or five girls who may as well have been in the stall with them.

If classical music was playing throughout the bathroom, this would no longer be such an ordeal. You could time everything perfectly. Cymbals would benevolently cover up every unseemly sound that might come from your stall. Gone would be the days of awkwardly waddling past your unintentional audiences. Classical music would put the pleasure back in peeing.

Now I'd like to go back to the anecdote I brought up earlier about "Show'n-a-shannnnn-ba-da-dam-bam-bammm-aw-aw-aw-aw-aw! Boom, ba da doom boom. WOO!-bang." When I thought of this idea of having music in the bathrooms, I thought it was brilliant. Now that I have thought about it a little more, I've come to the conclusion that I associate music with going to the bathroom. Here are the reasons I have come up with for why this might be:

1. This whole "show'n-a-shannnnn" chant. I've thought it ever since I was little. Is it anything, really, other than adding music to a typical bathroom routine?

2. The "pee-pee in the pot" song. When we were potty-training, my mom would sing the following song:

"I am learning how to pee-pee-ee in the potty,

Pee. Pee. Pee. Pee! In the pot.

Pee. Pee. Pee. Pee! Go right in.

Pee. Pee. Pee. Pee! Do it again."

There's another bathroom-music connection.

3. One time when my grandparents were visiting, my grandma spent 5 minutes to describe a "lovely, musical" episode of flatulence she had recently experienced. So I guess it runs in the family to connect the two.

4. When I was in orchestra in high school, my director, Mr. O'Bryan, would frequently tell us that our performance had sounded like poop. In one particular case, he told the oboe that she should embrace her role as "the kid who comes along and pees in the sandbox and ruins it for everyone." (In other words, she was supposed to play as obnoxiously as possible.) Well, well. Music and bathrooms.

5. I remember one FHE when I was about 7 or 8 years old, and I left to go to the bathroom. For some reason, as soon as I got in the bathroom, I had to sing. I hadd to. So I sang my little heart out for the entirety of my visit, and when I was done, I went out to see that my whole family had left and hidden in the laundry room. It was a funny experience and yet another reason why I associate the bathroom with music--it just seems natural.

So in conclusion. All I'm trying to say is, if elevators can have music in them, shouldn't bathrooms, too?

And just while we're on the subject of bathrooms, I'd like to make a note for the boys, too. Apparently, there are three unspoken rules of using the men's restroom. I've heard that they are:

1. Don't talk to each other.

2. Don't look at each other.

3 If there is a urinal open that is not immediately next to a urinal being used, use that one.

Here's what I think they should be:

1. Don't poop in the urinals.

2. Don't urinate anywhere other than in the urinals (i.e., on the walls, ceiling, etc.)

3. No racing. Everyone should be allowed to comfortably go at his own pace.

Of course, I have no authority on the matter whatsoever. I'm a girl. I've been in the boys bathroom a few times, I will admit, but never to use the urinal. I never plan to use a urinal. These rules are just things that I think sound good, and if I were a man, I would appreciate everyone adhering to them.

I think I've touched on enough awkward subjects for one post. Good night :)

Love Sacs and Douche Bags

School may have been cancelled this Monday, but here's something I learned over my 3-day weekend: douche bags have LoveSacs. Maybe it's a generalization, but in my experiences so far, I'd say it's been pretty sound.

This is a new trend I've noticed going around Provo. Bean bags, as it turns out, are for little girls and their friends at sleepovers. LoveSacs are for little men and their potential NCMO's at all hours of the night.

Here are some things you can assume /expect when you walk into a boy's apartment and you spy a LoveSac conveniently placed before a very nice TV:

1. They probably spent quite a bit of money on said TV. This is because they spend a lot of time in front of it with whatever girls happen to follow them home on any given night. This does not, however, mean that they will spend a lot of time actually watching the TV.

2. The guys who live in this apartment are douche bags. They come in all shapes and sizes. They can be premies or RM's, ranging in age from about 18-26, typically. Some dress nicely and smell good, while others are prime candidates for "What Not to Wear." There are gamers and there are athletes. Despite all of these idiosyncrasies, the thing they all have in common is their horniness.

3. Upon entering and noticing the LoveSac, you will feel a sense of mild discomfort. This will only increase as the night progresses, and you will want to shoot yourself by the time the boy sitting next to you tries to slip his hand into your tightly-clenched fist....for the twenty-sixth time in a row.

4. The guys you will be spending time with are not guys of the highest caliber. They may not avoid the niceties altogether, but the words rolling off their tongues will be practiced and mendacious. The more time you spend with them, exchanging pleasantries, the more apparent their insincerity will become. Oh, sure, they will ask you where you are going to school, what your major is, where you're from, and your favorite color. The more sophisticated ones often try to lay a foundation for a shadow of a friendship, luring you into a sense of false security by picking one thing to tease you about. This gives the impression that the two of you are, in fact, close friends. Inside jokes are a favorite tool of these con men. There are those who are so dedicated that they will go so far as to avidly inquire after your long-gone great-grandmother's floral preferences, but you will not be fooled. You will recognize the hollowness of the things they say because of the unmerited confidence with which they try to make a move on you immediately following their carefully placed comment. It is astounding.

5. You will be watching a scary movie. It is a statistical fact that girls are more inclined to make out with guys after watching a scary movie than after any other kind of movie. This statistic makes practical sense, and even guys who have not heard it stated as a hard and fast statistic will swear by it and count on it. Since the guys you are hanging out with are douchebags, this will be even more than a convenient truth to them: it will be one of their favorite mantras. (You'll find it right up there on the list next to "'No' means 'yes,'" or at least an accommodating 'later.')

6. You will be getting home much later than you had planned on, or want. When you find yourself in this situation, beware! Douche bags feel no obligation to bring girls home when they ask, particularly if the hour is respectable. Depending on how severe their lack of respect is, they may not even feel an obligation to bring you home when you openly discuss with your friend all the people you could possibly call to come and rescue you (admittedly a short list, considering the time of night--or morning). In fact, they may not even act flustered while you and your friend toy with the idea of walking home, a distance of several miles in winter-clad Provo at 4 in the morning. This will not faze them, as you may have hoped. In fact, they will think it is completely normal and try to give you a hug as you leave.

7. Following this harrowing experience, you will find yourself in a state of embarrassment at your own naivety. You will replay the scenes to yourself, storing away the things the boys said that initially caught your interest and sliding them neatly into a drawer in the filing cabinets of your mind labelled "CAUTION! AVOID!" You will also find yourself annoyed that you ever appeared to be the kind of girl this new generation of LoveSac Douche Bags would prefer. You will subconsciously check the length of your skirt and the scoop of the neck on your shirt, only to approve of them all over again. You are not the problem. You are a tasteful and classy individual, if a little naive.

But here's my question. Is it really naivety to assume that you will be given a ride back to your own apartment when you request it? Should this assumption really be chalked up to inexperience, or is it a reasonable expectation that was sadly tromped all over in an unfortunate (but rare) experience?

Women all over the globe can be heard to lament that "chivalry is dead." In my opinion, chivalry is opening doors, small acts of protectiveness, a coat in the mud, even standing when the woman of the house enters the room. I can live without these things. I am perfectly capable of getting my own door and stepping around the mud puddle. It's not a "deal breaker" if the boy turns off the heater without asking me if I am comfortable and warm. Of course I will be pleased if a boy does do these things, but I don't mind a more modern man, either.

Taking a girl home when it was you who drove her to your apartment, and she tells you she is ready to leave, is not chivalry. It is common respect. I would even go so far as to say it is common sense. If your mother did not instill this idea in you, your conscience should have taken care of it. When a girl says, "Please take me home," you take her home. That some boys think it is acceptable to essentially hold a girl hostage is ridiculous to me. A few days ago, I would have even said it was inconceivable!

Unfortunately, it is not so far-fetched as one might hope.

Young single women of Provo, be on your guard against these skeezes I have just described.