I have one confession. And one thing that pissed me off. Before I get to my coming out of the closet, I wanted to update you guys on my 5 foot 6 height situation.
Earlier I said that I went to the doctor and they measured me at only 5 foot 5 and three quarters inches. And it occured to me that six years ago the doctor said I was five foot six and three quarters inches. Now, I don’t know if I was wearing shoes at the time or if I shrunk an inch in the past six years, but there’s no way I can live with myself knowing I’ve only got the opinion of one doctor on my height. I need absolute closure on this issue. So I’m going to get a second opinion on my height and eventually I’ll let you know the results…
Or rather, my coming out of my closet is the term I’d prefer to use. Because a confession makes it seem like I’ve been hiding a wrongdoing. And it’s nothing of the like, but I still have to get this off my chest…
I’m all for ultimate cleanliness in the most disgusting of human body parts.
I mouthwash and brush my teeth religiously. I clean out my earwax. I even pick out my belly button hole every other shower, and the only reason I don’t clean out my belly button every single shower is because I tend to forget.
So obviously I have baby wipes in my office desk that I use in the bathroom. I make sure to keep it in a plastic bag every time I do my duty in the office bathroom. And it’s in that plastic bag so that when I go to the bathroom no one can see that I’m carrying baby wipes. All they see is the plastic bag. I don’t know why, but I know that other men would find me weird for bringing baby wipes to the bathroom. And I just think that’s jilted logic on the part of heterosexual men becuase it’s not only homosexuals who like to keep it clean down there. There are metros out there, too, who like everything clean. Now, I’m not saying I’m a metro because I feel as though you have to be at least an 8.5 out of ten to be a legitimate metro. Fully shaved, I’m probably a 7.7 out of 10. Disheveled on a Sunday and Monday, I’m a 6.9, but that number is still pretty intriguing and hot in a way. In addition to being clean, I’m a little paranoid and self conscious, which explains the plastic bag and it also explains my near heart attack today. So today I accidentally forgot the baby wipes in the bathroom after I used them. And sitting back at my desk I only realized this 10 minutes later. And I panicked. I thought, holy shit, the guys are going to see the plastic bag, then the baby wipes and put two and two together: “Ariel uses baby wipes!” Let’s GO MAKE FUN OF HIM! But then after I retrieved the plastic bag and baby wipes, sat back at my desk and eased my heart rate, I thought to myself: Why should I hide these feelings I have for baby wipes? Why do I need to hide my love for them? Why should I feel embarrassed for being clean? Isn’t my clealiness, in part, why my wife agreed to sleep with me a second time when we started dating? Shouldn’t I be proud of my baby wipes? So right here and now, I’m coming out of the closet. I’m telling you, the world, that I use baby wipes whenever possible. On vacation, in the office, back at home, and maybe evena t your house if I’m invited. I’m no longer embarrassed. Baby wipes are the reason I’m a sexy 7.7 instead of a 6.9 five days a week.
Passwords on websites. When you register for certain websites, some of them require you to provide a password. Which is okay. I’m in total support of security measures. But I think it’s a bit much when a magazine website asks you to have one obscure character, like a capital letter or symbol. You know how when you register for a site the registration form will show an error, “Sorry, you have to include a symbol in your password.”
Buddy, I know what I’m doing here. I’ve been doing this password stuff since I first opened an AOL account in 1996 or whenever it was. I don’t need you to tell me how to create a secure password. And quite honestly, I’m not all that worried that someone is going to hack into my Wall Street Journal account and read articles under my name. So don’t tell me how I SHOULD create a password.
That’s like telling me I need to barricade my door every night in fear of a burgler. Buddy, I live in a suburban Jewish neighborhood. The only way I’m going to be robbed around here is in a courtroom.
Symbols in my passwords… psssshh. What’s next? Are you going to tell me I have to put a metal detector on the entrance of my house because my Jewish guests may be carrying weapons?
And then you’re going to tell me I need two metal detectors; one for the front door and one for the back. And who knows how much metal detectors cost these days? I’ll probably be down $10,000 by the time this is all over.
Jews in America don’t carry weapons to Friday-night dinners. I think the most dangerous weapon they carry is their lawyer’s business card.
I just did two Jewish lawyer jokes in one minute. One more and I’ll probably be sued by Saul.
So fuck you with your symbols in passwords.
You can always listen to my rants here on bostonjew.com, or subscribe to my podcast!