special guest post : personal hygiene with space

by guest at 12:08 AM on July 20, 2001

In order to fill the few coveted spots for new Bad Samaritans, I’m allowing some of the applicants to do a very special guest post. Think of it like a trip to the casting couch, only everyone is less sticky afterward. This is the second of several such special guest spots, by fellow Iowan and Blind Date lover, Space of Space Cheese. Please comment, rate, and judge him, because your feedback is one of the ways I’ll decide who gets lifted from obscurity to Internet Rock-Stardom © as the next Bad Samaritan.

If you are still interested in applying for one of the spots, send an email.

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Today after my workout, I was a little pressed for time, and I had to take some hygiene shortcuts. But it's a big day in SpaceCheeseLand, so I have to be sure to take the right shortcuts.

First of all, the shower. The shower's tough. I really need the shower to get through the day, so I don't take too many shortcuts in there. I wash my whole body. I'm good about this. Sometimes I even wash my penis twice. You might think that's excessive, but it doesn't take all that long, and I know if I don't get that gear clean, I really won't feel fresh the whole rest of the day. Today I sing J.Lo in the shower (yes, while I wash my penis, but also after): "Think I wanna drive your Benz, I don't. If I wanna floss I got my own." What does that mean?

But I do need to floss. It's been a fortnight or so.

Ok, now I'm done with the shower, but I've taken too long and I really have to rush to get through the rest of all this. I can get away without a shave. I shaved yesterday, and my facial hair is dark enough that no one can really tell when I've shaved anyway. We'll put the shaving stuff away again.

Contacts. I've got all kinds of solutions I'm supposed to use on them, but I usually just kind of swish them around in the case, them pop them in. Then at least one of them has something on it and hurts, and I have to take it out again, wash it, stick it back in, repeat. I could just wear glasses, but I'm not sure where they are. Oh well. It usually stops hurting after a while. I'll blink a lot till then.

Fingernails. They're a little long. I need to trim them. Some people do this over the sink, but I'm of the opinion that solid matter ideally (i.e. "when sober") should not go down the sink. Some people do them over the KITCHEN sink, which seems rather awful to me: aside from the occasional hand-washing, hygiene really ought to be conducted in private. Some people will argue that the bedroom is private and do them in there, but I don't like the idea of toenails in the carpet. How often do you vacuum, really?You can do them over the trash, sure, but the wastebasket in the bathroom is pretty small and they won't all make it in unless I crouch over it, and that's too weird when I'm naked. What I really think is that the perfect nail-clippings-receptacle has yet to be designed. So I do them over the toilet.

Isn't it funny how people don't want combine toilet uses? The idea of clipping my nails into urine-water, or, god forbid, a toilet with poop in it, is truly horrifying. It's only a little better than the thought of shitting onto someone else's shit. *Shudder* So, even though the toilet's clean, thinking about this has made me feel dirty, and I flush before I trim my nails.

But I've thought too hard about this and I don't have time for the nails. I'll just keep my hands clenched into fists today.

Teeth. Toothbrushing is something I kind of get lost in, sometimes. Today is one of those days. I move my lips around to make funny,foaming faces at myself in the mirror. That also changes the sound of it; by opening and closing your mouth, you can get a neat little flange effect going on. I brush them in a rhythm: Steve Miller's "The Joker" today. Swish swish. Swishswish swish swish. Swishswish swish spit. brush brush brushbrushbrushbrushbrushbrushbrush.

Shouldn't have done the whole song. Now I don't have time to floss.

Hair. Where's my brush? Fingers will have to do. I'll drive with the window down to work and tell everyone the AC's broken. I'm balding and no one expects my hair to look like much these days anyway.

That'll do for now. I'm late. I'll do some remedial hygiene when I get home.

Ok, getting dressed. Clean underwear, if you can swing it. Boxers are best, both because of feng shui concerns and the fact that the white, inconsistently hairy upper part of men's thighs is maybe the least attractive real estate on the planet, unless you wax and tan them, and that would be too involved to get with my own thighs. Yes, I do wear pants, but it's best to get as many layers on those things as possible.

Today is frog boxers day.

Socks. These are less likely to be clean. Fortunately, I wear shoes over them.

Pants. These have a dried dab of what looks like taco juice on them, but they'll have to do. I'll keep my hands in my lap all day, and no one will notice, though they may wonder if I'm hiding a boner.

Shirt. This still smells like the bar I was in four days ago, which is not good, but here near the armpit it kind of smells like deodorant, and that is very good, because I've run out of that.

I don't have time to iron it, and probably wouldn't anyway.

So this is what I look like as I write my Bad Samaritan sample post: one eye squinty; facial hair sprouting patchily out of my face; hair uncombed, but mostly pushed in the right direction; shirt wrinkled and smelly, unless you have your nose in my armpit (you don't); and my hands in loose fists, resting in an awkward spot on my right thigh, almost like I'm holding the reigns of a covered wagon, leading a train of unwashed bodies across the prairie.

Fortunately, this is the internet, and you have to imagine this.

Well, do I get the job?