When you go into the bathroom, you're a Russian.

Cake stuck in my head, three different songs:

  1. You turn the screws
  2. Long line of cars
  3. Sheep go to heaven
And the fact that I'm stuck in holiday traffic is catching up with my sleeping mind.

You come out of the bathroom, you're American.

First time I heard this joke, in second or third grade I guess, the joke was phrased as You come out of the bathroom, you're Brazilian. And lately, I've found myself wondering if there is a deeper level to that version of the joke. If there is some addition to the pun I'm not getting. More likely, the guy who told it to me (Who was distinctly not Brazilian, was told it by someone who had evenly and deeply tanned skin, someone who spoke Portuguese with a lilting accent, someone who partied topless for two weeks straight on the streets and beaches of Rio de Janeiro. Because if not, where the hell did that come from?

What are you while you're in the bathroom?

I shouldn't be surprised by holiday traffic, but I just wasn't ready for it today at 2 p.m., Sunday. I work at the Riverchase Galleria, a shopping mall that is the largest tourist destination in Alabama (Beating even the Huntsville Space and Rocket Center). I live ten minutes away, even in fairly hellish traffic. But there's never traffic on Sundays, not after the 3000 member churches unleash that fanatic horde onto the weary streets of Birmingham.


Outside the door to the Starbucks I work at are three adults, two 10-11 year olds, at least seven toddlers on leashes, and a stroller. Because of the leashes, the toddlers walk into each other, fall over, get up, fall over, walk into each other. The entire ?Family? is wearing Navy blue Old Navy American flag T-Shirts. It takes the procession three minutes to get past the double doors, to allow me passage.