It has been sometime since I've posted anything on my personal blog. Lack of insipration? Nah, not really, I've been busy. Occupied with things that kept me from jotting down my ideas. I'm happy to say, I'm back in the game! This entry is entirely centered around why my blog is named what it is. True story. I can't make these things up. Hope you enjoy!
The following story is true; the
names have been changed to well, you get the idea.
When I opened the door to her
apartment it was as if someone slapped me in the face with a two-by-four of
stench.
Alexa and I had been dating for
somewhere around three months. She was
an interesting girl that I had thought was smart. Clearly I was wrong.
Coming out of a number of
relationships that seemed more like an episode of a sitcom than real life, I
can’t say that this, in the long run, really surprised me.
It was late summer, right before
the beginning of September. The leaves
were getting ready to change, the hot days were beginning to vanish and most
importantly the school year was about to begin.
One afternoon while hanging out in
her apartment that she newly moved into she asked me “would you wanna go
shopping with me for school stuff?” Alexa
attended Penn State, she was an English major, and this is another reason why I
felt she was smart. Over the years I’ve
found that these people are anything but that.
They seem to carry an arrogance
with them that can never be explained.
As if they are entitled to something.
Let me tell you, Alexa fit this to a Tee. Half of our arguments ended because I got sick
of her correcting my grammar.
I decided to accept her offer of
school shopping as I was headed back for the fall semester as well. The date was set and we were supposed to meet
up the next day, after she got out of work.
I assured her I would be there no later than four o’clock.
On the way down to her apartment I
took the time to call her and let her know about what time I would be
arriving. She simply said, “Okay! Just
let yourself in, I’ll be in the shower.”
Who the hell leaves the door unlocked while showering? To me this just seems like a bad idea, no
matter what way you slice it.
When I arrived I began the long
trudge up the stairs to Alexa’s second story apartment. They were the sort of steps that were
sideways because they were built over 30 years ago. The kind that throw you off when walking up
them, mostly because every third one is a different size.
I climbed to the top and walked
through the door. That is when the
stench hit me. The only way I can
describe the smell is by a combination of week old garbage, shit and barbeque
Fritos.
It.
Was.
Un.
Bearable.
Have you ever smelled something so
bad that it made your head hurt? I
have. And this was the day it
happened. Couple the stench with the
fact that it was 85 degrees out that day and you literally had a perfect storm
for stank.
As a man I find myself with a
constant need to fix problems. It’s what
we do; we are just wired that way.
Right? Since Alexa was still in
the shower, I took it upon myself to pinpoint the problem and eliminate
it. This way I could stand tall in front
of my girlfriend by proclaiming, “I have fixed the problem!” Sort of like that scene in Castaway, the
movie featuring Tom Hanks. When he
finally started the fire and ran around screaming, “I have made fire! I, MAN,
have made fire!”
I began searching the rooms, one by
one, determined to find the source of this evil stench. Walking around checking many different places,
I found myself legitimately sniffing the air, much like a dog would do.
In the kitchen, I sniffed in the
fridge, which smelled surprisingly okay.
Moved over to the garbage can and even sniffed that! Nope.
Even the garbage smelled better than the migraine-causing odor.
Exhausted, I slumped down into the couch. I had failed.
I failed to fix the problem. I
had single handedly let down my grandfathers, father, friends and the entire
male race. Way to go Russ.
Luckily I remembered the bottle of
Febreeze I had purchased for Alexa earlier in the month. I purchased this item for her for one simple
reason. She had a dog. A dog that constantly went to the bathroom on
the carpet, as it was never properly housetrained.
I’m told that you should only scold
a dog immediately after it goes to the bathroom. Then clean it up and spray it with some sort
of scent masking spray. Thus the reason
for the Febreeze.
I grabbed the bottle and began to
walk around the apartment, spraying the odor-eliminating liquid into the
air. All this was an attempt to mask the
smell that was plaguing the apartment.
What was this smell? How in gods
name did Alexa not notice it?
When I finished and had the
apartment smelling slightly better than it was, I was able to again fall into
the couch and wait for Alexa to finish her shower. Not long after I heard the water turn off and
the sound of rings clinking together as the shower curtain slid open.
When she opened the door, Alexa was
still drying her hair with a towel. She
looked at me on the couch and said “Hi.”
I waved back and she began to walk across the room towards her
bedroom. Around the halfway point of her
journey I mustered up the phrase, “Hey, can I ask you a serious question?” To which she said, “yes.”
Alexa stopped at the door of her
bedroom. Still drying her hair. I can still see the sort of turban she had
made out of the towel. Rubbing the towel
into her scalp trying to dry her long blonde hair.
At this point my filter is
off. Why? Because how in the hell do you not notice a
scent this bad?
I guess that’s why the next phrase
came as
no surprise to me. I looked at her and said, “What. The fuck. Is that smell?”
Much to my surprise she responded
calmly with, “Oh, it’s probably the garbage.”
Now I knew it wasn’t, so I furthered the conversation by adding, “It’s
not the garbage, I know this because I smelled the garbage.”
Just before she shut the door to
her bedroom. She said, “Well it must be
the dog poop over by sink.” The door
shut.
What?
How?
Where?
Now I was worried. I was over by the sink! You know the way
people always check their shoes after they step in shit? Lifting each foot to check. That was me. Only picture me doing it while
sitting on the couch.
Both shoes, there was nothing
there. I went to the sink and checked
the floor, nothing there. I checked the
entire kitchen floor. Nothing. What in the hell was she talking about? There was no dog poop. I was baffled.
All there was left to do was
wait. Wait for Alexa to come out of the
bedroom and have her explain to me what she meant. I sat on the couch and waited. It must have been the longest five minutes on
the planet. I began to zone out,
thinking about all the possibilities that it could be. After what seemed like an eternity, my
consciousness came rushing back to me all at once. When the door swung open and she said,
“What’s up?”
I looked at
her and wondered how she didn’t know what was up. The smell, that’s what’s up. I immediately sprang forth with “What do you
mean dog poop?”
She seemed
to be taken back with me asking. Sorry
babe, I need to know. She responded
with, “It’s over by the sink.” No it
wasn’t I was sure of this again, because I checked it. I am a very thorough researcher.
I felt like
a detective questioning a criminal, or a lawyer question the all-star
witness. The spot light was on her and I
was going to get the answers I wanted.
The answers I NEEDED.
“There is
nothing over by the sink,” I said. Alexa
looked at me as if I just insulted her grandmother. She looked almost disappointed. Looking back at it now, I don’t think she was
disappointed in me for asking, but more so with her self for not handling the
issue.
Alexa put
her hands on her hips, slumped to one side and let out a long drawn out
sigh. “It’s under the sink,” she
said. “In the cabinet.” Excuse me?
What did she mean the dog shit was in the cabinet? My whole world was thrown askew.
She then
began to explain the story to me. She
was running late for work. At that time
she was working part-time at a local grocery store. She had just enough time to get into the car
and head to work, however there was one problem. Her dog, Stella, took a number two on the
floor.
Alexa was
now presented with a problem. A problem
that really only has one solution.
Granted there are a number of ways she could have reached her solution,
but she decided to choose the most wrong way I can possibly think of.
Ideas like
picking it up with toilet paper and flushing it down the toilet, or scooping it
into a bag and throwing it outside never dawned on her. Instead she decided to grab a bathroom towel
and use it as a pooper-scooper. Alexa
then placed the towel into a plastic bag and put it in the cabinet under the
sink. She explained that way she could
dispose of it easily after work.
Is this
real life? What bizzaro world does she
live in that made that seem like a good idea?
This is where the argument began.
There are a
number of unexplained mysteries on the Earth.
Easter Island, crop circles and even the Pyramids of Egypt, but there is
no greater mystery than how much a woman can love her stupid dog.
Don’t get
me wrong, I own dogs, I love my dogs, but there is something different about a
woman and a dog. That dog could be the
worst behaved mutt on the face of the planet, but it is still “Mommy’s widdle
baby!” I’ve literally heard women
describe their dogs as smart, only to witness them run into the wall or chase
their tails. I’ve been in a number of
relationships since this and frankly I’ve seen this almost every time.
Women love
dogs. Period. You are better off if you don’t question
why. And for the love of god, don’t
ever. EVER. Insult the stupid dog.
This is
where I wish I had my own advice years ago.
Then again, don’t we all? All the
time?
I made the
mistake of mentioning how maybe she should get rid of her dog if she doesn’t
know how to take care of it. Talk about
throwing rocks at a hornet’s nest.
Direct Hit!
“Don’t tell me how to live my
life!” she said. “I’ll put dog shit in
the oven if I want to!” I responded
snappily with, “that’s a bad idea, it will probably melt.”
Apparently this was one of those
times where my sarcasm only added fuel to the fire. The more wise-ass comments I added, the more
pissed off she became. After all, I was
right. Right?
Of course I
was, how can expect to win an argument when you put a turd in a cabinet. Let me tell you, there is something extremely
gratifying about having already won an argument and not even needing to prove
your points.
The door
slammed again. I was alone again, with
the stench. As I sat in the chair
thinking about what I’m going to do now I couldn’t help but laugh at the
situation.
After later
explaining this story to family and friends, by the way it’s a real party
favorite, I realized how that was one of the rare times where I was actually on
the right side of an argument with a girl.
Needless to
say Alexa and I broke up not to long after the “shit in the cabinet” incident.
I’ve had my fair share of
relationships. I’ve had love and lost
it, I’ve been the “other guy”, and even had my heart broken. No matter what I encounter in the future, my
relationship with Alexa was undoubtedly the shittiest relationship I’ve ever
had. To this day, whenever I introduce a girl to my mother, she always gets me
on the side and asks me, “She doesn’t put shit in her cabinets, does she?”
