I’ve received dozens of e-mails (nay, hundreds) requesting this post.
There was Bill F. from Boise, ID who asked, “Since I’m not a screenwriter I don’t really have the answer to this, but I wondered if you could tell your readers how you brush your teeth?” There was Barbara P. from New Haven, CT who said, “I bet you have a process when you brush your teeth, being a screenwriter and all. I would love to know what that is!” And who could forget Garth O. from Santa Fe, NM who wrote, “I love your writing. I suspect I’ll love your tooth-brushing process as well…if you’d only let me know exactly what that is!”
Yes, my friends — today is your lucky day.
“You mean, you don’t use a washcloth in the shower?”
The words rang out, in fact they echoed in my head as I heard two people discussing this very issue recently in a local Bed, Bath & Beyond store — one person trying to convince the other that the only way to clean ones’ body was to use a washcloth. That without it, ones’ body would not become clean but would just “appear to be clean” when in reality it was just clean “on the surface.”
Yes, once again — the washcloth conspiracy had reared its ugly head.
The WFME friends over at Slay Your Demons have seen fit to run my contributing piece, “Salsa Bars: Spicy Mouth Parties or Evil Germ Receptacles” on their blog today — a blog all about ranting about your personal demons.
So check it out, get sick of the sanitary ungoodness of salsa bars, and come back and hurl your words my way.
It’s time for a little math.
It takes me five minutes to brush my teeth. It takes me ten minutes to shave. It takes me one minute to gear up for a shower and thirty seconds to get the water just right. It takes me five minutes to do the soap portion with the washcloth and another five minutes for the shampoo part. It takes me thirty seconds to dry off and thirty seconds to gear up for the hair portion of the morning. Then, it takes me three minutes to dry my hair, two minutes to add the product, one minute to shape, and thirty seconds to add the finishing touches. Then, it takes me five minutes to decide what to wear, five minutes to get dressed, and three and a half minutes to observe and adjust in the mirror on all counts to make sure things are ready to go. It takes thirty-six and a half seconds to put on my shoes or boots (trust me, I’ve clocked it and that’s as fast as I can go.) All in the total preparation time commitment totals in at about forty eight minutes, six and a half seconds per morning.
I once worked in this office building.
Yes, I know — let’s get past that startling revelation for the moment. Yes, there was a point in my life where I actually drove to a parking garage, got out of my car, took an elevator to a certain floor in a tall building, walked down the hallway, entered an office area, sat down at a desk, and you know — worked.
In addition to the usual strangeness and random goings on that take place in said office building, there was an even stranger situation going on near the lavatories. Every time I would enter the bathroom, I would find a crumpled up piece of toilet paper right there at the foot of the door.