Make Up Sex

I've found that writing a blog is sorta like courting a broad. You come out of the gate really strong, getting her unexpected gifts and sending cute little texts and poking her on facebook. Then once she's settled in and believes you're the most bestest, romantic man on earth you begin to put your feet up and get flowers only on anniversaries and roll over for sexy time a couple times a month. In January I was all jazzed up and attracted to this blog. I wrote every few days and put out my 'A' material for everyone to enjoy. But once you all were smitten over the Schmidts, I began to take you for granted. I feel like the last week or so we have been on a break. The magic had gone. We needed to see other blogs. It's not you, it's me.

But yesterday I sat alone in my apartment all day, literally, and did not speak a word out loud until 6 p.m. I had woken up at 7 a.m. 11 hours of pure silence. Not even a "fuck" when I stubbed my toe. It was weird though, because it had felt like I was talking all day. Turns out I was just talking to myself inside my head. All day. All fucking day. I read a book, The Road. Not too shabby. I made breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I even texted a broad to see if she wanted an unexpected gift. But it was all in silence. During this silence I realized that I missed the Schmidts. I promise to do better. Please take me back. I'll write every few days I promise. I'll even stop the swearing, or at least try. I'll update you and treat you like a real blog should be treated. I love your eggs.

I kissed a broad and I liked it. Shocking I know.

Outbreak

Today I donated blood. They didn't screen me for the Schmidts virus, so soon one lucky man, woman, or child will be the recipient of Rooneggs blood splattered with the Schmidts virus. I told you guys. I'm gonna make it spread throughout the world like a rash on ur eggs.

They place you in a lounger seat and give you orange juice and let you play with a stress ball and lollipops. It's like a day at the spa. I asked the woman helping me for a mani and pedi, but she didn't really find it amusing.

Schmidts reference #2:
My boss today held a meeting about our visiting a high school tomorrow and the game plan for all of the social workers. She put me in charge of all the male students. She said the following, "I really wanna see you with men. See how you work with the males." I cannot tell you how hard it was for me to not start laughing hysterically. I could just see Bradley or Coach just pointing and laughing if they were there with me. For the record...I work better with broads.

As I stated in my last blog, there were riots at the University here. Elections are coming up and that always brings up some good old fashioned street violence here in South Africa. Yesterday the cops shot rubber bullets at the crowd, one of which hit a blind man. Does anybody else agree that that's just wrong? You can't shoot a blind man with rubber bullets. That's not ethical. I'm just saying, if you're gonna fire recklessly at a crowd of defenseless students, at least shoot someone that knows they are about to get shot at. No good?

Last night I saw Marley & Me. Totally schmidts. But really great. Aniston is still smoking hot, I don't care what PerezHilton says. It struck a chord too with me. My dog passed away about a year ago, so this movie tugged at my eggs in a special way. Sorry for the spoiler, but you had to know Old Yeller was gonna go to the special farm. But anyways, Schooner was a good egg. And the movie made Ingrid cry like a true broad. So go see it. And be schmidts.


Are you Jewish?
Do you wanna check my penis?

Ji Ya

Life lately hasn't been all that it's cracked up to be. Lots of stuff. But I don't wanna bore you all with my problems. That will take at least 10 years of psychoanalysis. But basically work has been hard, I didn't have the best supervision mid term evaluation, and I just ate chicken that wasn't cooked enough and I have to wake up at 5 to go into work tomorrow to participate in a TB awareness campaign, because my life is a richful fucking oyster. Apparently they don't want anyone to be aware of TB, because if they did, they would teach this shit about four hours later. But anyways...

Something about hang drying my clothes makes me feel more independent. Yes, I have a high powered electrical fan drying them in my living room, but still. It also smells absolutely fantastic in my house right now. Well, at least the living room, since I just ate chicken that was a bit old and turned my bathroom into a paternity ward. The only problem with hang drying is that your clothes dry with a hard feeling to them. It’s weird because they are so soft, but then get really hard and uncomfortable. Michael Scott would love my blogs…

I saw this traditional Zulu dance happen and posted the pics on the Flickr page. One broad had no top on. I wasn’t that really fazed by it, which surprised me since I haven’t seen breasts since Nagano. We also went on a crocodile and snake tour near the Zulu village. The tour guide sounded like Bueller’s professor and only spoke about how deadly each animal was and how fast you’d die if they bit you. It was painful beyond belief to listen to this guy, but luckily I had a spoon in my hand, so I shoved it up my ass. Cause if I’m gonna hurt that much, I’m gonna do it to myself. It’s called empowerment. Social Work 101.

I had to see the doctor this week at the hospital. She asked me if anything else was bothering me besides the feeling of having a swimming pool of eggs in my stomach after I ate, and I told her that I was having trouble sleeping. She then proceeded to ask me about anxieties in my life and I told her my parents were Jewish. She understood and moved on. She then asked about my drinking habits and I told her that I drank about 2 Litres of Coke each day. After wiping the poop out of her pants she told me that I was clinically addicted to Coke and needed treatment. So don’t be shocked if the blog goes on hiatus while I'm undergoing inpatient treatment for my Coke addiction.

She also asked me if I prayed and suggested that to be a good helper with my addiction. I didn’t really know this, because I haven’t paid any attention to religion in about 10 years, but apparently Jesus Christ is kind of a big deal. I don’t really get the religion thing. Everyone at work prays to this all mighty figure to help them and guide them and fix them. Meanwhile, after they complete prayer they can’t turn on the copy machine because its broken and then have to wait a half hour to get it fixed. I mean, if he’s that good why not just pray for the copy machine while you’re at it. And how is Jesus gonna help me with my tush? Is he going to plug it himself? Let me tell ya this, if he did actually plug it for me, then you can start the bathwater cause I’ll convert right then and there.

I'm beginning to worry because each day I go into work someone says, “Feeling better? You look much better today.” I wasn’t sick. But apparently they thought I looked like someone had munged me the day before. I decided to not cut my hair or shave my beard for the rest of my trip. It’s my “let yourself go” month. I did this three years ago in Australia after a girl denied my sexual advances and I continue the tradition now. I had two ladies that I was interested in here. But say they both are extremely faithful and in love with Jesus and won’t date someone who isn’t the same way. So as you can imagine, I dropped out of the running for their eggs. So due to my recent misfortune with female eggs, I have decided to let myself go. My smell is quite pungent. My hair is longer than it’s been since Korea. But my eggs are still smooth as the Easter Bunny don’t worry.

This week I will blog about my future Spring Break plans to Uganda and Rwanda. Bananas.

There was also gunfire on campus today because there are demonstrations going on over the upcoming elections. Ingrid said they were just rubber bullets so it’s not a big deal. Great logic. When I take a rubber gumball in the jugular I might think differently. Glad she’s my guide in Rwanda…

Cross My Eggs And Hope To Die

So yesterday I was invited by the Staff Psychologist, Sally Jones, to accompany her to Matatiyela to visit a children's home and hang out with the kids all day. I woke up bright and early and headed to the airfield with one of the other Psychology interns, and boarded a tin box with wings provided by the Red Cross, and flew off to Matatiyela. They didn't give us a safety shpeal before taking off because if something went wrong, death was immenent. But I honestly prefer this type of flying. No security, no lines, no guy frisking your eggs and asking why you have one loose Xanax in your pocket and not in the plastic bag where all your other liquids are. It took us about an hour to get there. It's located on the border of Eastern Cape and KwaZulu-Natal.

We got to the children's home and all of the children were at school so I had some time to check out the facility and meet the owner and just kind of observe. Sally had clients come to see her so I wandered and eventually found myself in the baby room. I'm not a big baby guy. They frighten me. They just kinda stare at you and soil themselves and cry and spit up disgusting liquid. It's very unbecoming. But I figured this was a new experience and I should try to learn how to work with little babies. The first one I sat with started to cry uncontrollably. Really boosted my self esteem. The nanny, Elizabeth, picked him up, burped him, wiped his tuchus, and he stopped. Isn't that amazing? Imagine if as adults something bad happened to us and someone smacked our back and wiped our ass and everything was back to being 100% perfect. That's the world I want to live in. There were 6 babies and all 6 were very cute. They definitely were all schmidts, just were too young to know it. I played with them as if they were puppies, playing fetch and tickling them, and also doing the airplane game that is just really insanely dangerous but also makes you feel kinda cool because you see fathers do it in the movies all the time. I don't know how to play with babies. Making that baby voice makes me wanna kill myself. So the puppy route is the way I played it. I enjoyed playing with them, but still definitely want to be Uncle Rooney instead of Daddy Rooney. Sorry Mom.

At around 1 we all took naps on the floor and then the older kids came. I gave them my camera and they took some cool pics so check em out. We played hop scotch (I dominated) and jumped rope (I dominated) and soccer (they dominated). They all wanted piggy back rides so I'm exhausted today. It was like they went on a white man safari as opposed to an elephant one. My eggs are just as big so it's not hard to imagine.

The facility is amazing that they have there. It's clean and beautiful and just run really well. I was very impressed. It's almost what I'd like to open up one day, but mine would be absolutely more schmidts and have daily easter egg hunts. But you can see on the kid's faces and just with their ineteractions how traumatized some of them are. Most are orphans or victims of some type of trauma. The work that Sally does with them is amazing, and just being apart of it was awesome. I will probably go back in the next month, so hopefully I can work more with them a little bit.

Right now I'm washing my clothes in my newly fixed washing machine. It's not fixed. Water still spills all over the floor. So I wash my clothes and feet at the same time. And it's not clean water dripping on my toes. It's water that smells like it was used in a mung. It honestly smells like a dutch oven in my kitchen right now, which makes supper time so very pleasant. This guy came by the other day to fix it, stinking of booze, and said to me in his drunk sarcastic voice, "What's the matter with you? You just have to twist the pipe knob. See? Fixed." Oh really drunken man? You know, growing up, plumbing wasn't really on the menu as a child. A Jew fixing the plumbing? That photos hard to come by.

Well, yesterday was the anniversary for the Amoda party in Austin. Those of you who know me know what that means. And if you're in Austin, watch your back for Cougars. Meoweggs!

Eggscelent Question

Does he always mean testicles when he says eggs? He refers to me as ashltesticles?

Ashleggs
Austin, TX

Ashleggs,

Eggscelent question. Love where your heads at. I'm sure many of you are wondering why I am so obsessed with eggs or saying the word eggs or adding eggs to certain words like eggstra or eggsenstentual or eggstreme. Or creating new fun words like combining 'eggs' with 'thank you' to create 'theggs'. Here is the deal. Eggs are treasures. Simple as that. When I say eggs on their own I do usually always mean testicles or Theku (remembering back to our language lesson). The only time I don't mean testicles is when I say that I ate eggs for breakfast or bought some eggs at the store. Usually. When I add 'eggs' to a word or name, like Ashleggs, Ashleggs, it is only meant to add joy and eggsitement to the word that already exists. It just makes it eggstra special. And it makes it sound a lot more fun to say. I don't mean to have you think I am calling you Ashletesticles. Because that name would be really fucking weird and offensive. After all, I am a social worker. Thank you for eggspressing yourself through your blog question, and if anyone else wants to know about eggs or schmidts, please feel free to write in as well.

Schmidts and stones may break my bones but eggs will never hurt me.

Zulu Language Lesson 102

Welcome back class. It's been a while but after the long break we are back and I hope you are ready to learn about the language of Zuleggs. This lesson is very special to me so please put your seats in the upright position and brace yourself for this magical lesson of love...

eThekwini= Durban (in Zulu)
Theuku= Testicles
e-, -ini= locative markers (in/by/near/at)

So, class, let's put this magical puzzle together.

eThekwini really means IN/BY/NEAR/AT THE EGGS. Durban is the center of African eggs. I am at the center of African eggs. Talk about destiny. I think I now believe in God. Eggs are everywhere! Durban has to be the most schmidts place on planet earth being named the center of the testicles. I'm either near, in, or by the eggs. The place of eggs. This is my homeland.

Rooney, from the place of eggs...OUT!

Analyze Theggs

Rooney, What do I do if my roommate brings a girl to our hotel room while I'm sick with diarrhea and proceeds to have intercourse with her and then the girl keeps saying my name? Also who is more schmidts in that situation? My roommate, the girl, or me?

Bag,

What a wonderful question to ask. First off let me just say that I feel bad for you that you not only had to endure a horrible night of giving birth, but you also had to witness sexual relations between two consenting adults while you breached. It's always uncomfortable to have your stomach feel that way, and privacy is always desired when you are about to unleash the fury, so having two naked people in the room with you could not have been comfortable. I just pray you had Cottenelles on hand.
To answer your first question on what you should do, this is the best I can come up with. I am assuming this was regular broad on male intercourse, because if it were two broads I would tell you to risk some sort of an accident on your part and say hello to the party. But, if it happened to be your best friend with another lady, this is the standard operating procedure. Guy code clearly points out that you should never interrupt seggual relations between your best friend and a broad, even if you are down to your 7th and final layer of your O-ring. Slip your headphones on, roll over slowly, make sleeping noises like a grunt or moan (which could add to the mood in the room as well), shart if you must. But never interrupt magic time.
As for the broad saying your name, I am not exactly sure. I’ve never been in those shoes before. I’ve had women say the name of other men while I was with them, obviously, but never in your position. I'm actually somewhat speechless.
As for who is the most schmidts, I will rank them in this order: Roommate, Girl, You, and this is why. Your roommate is a complete schmidt pie for bringing a lady back to your room, knowing you had the McGurggles. And this lady spoke your name, which mean his seggual mojo must be pretty schmidts. The girl is not too schmidts, but she did agree to make sex while you are in the room. But maybe that was her plan all along. So she might be ultra un-schmidts and wanted a taste of Kiwi pie. As for you, I know you personally, and I know that you are one of the most schmidts people in the southern hemisphere. But in this instance you did nothing schmidts. You were the victim of schmidts activities. And for that I am sorry. Does this help you out a little bit?

Sbu.

I know you all are wondering how I did in the Fun Run on Saturday morning and here is how I did. I hit the snooze at 7 am and decided to sleep until 12. Might be my best time yet. I should do it more often. And today I went to the beach and realized my deodorant no longer works. What is up with that? I swear you need to switch brands like every couple months. It’s like my armpits are resistant to Right Guard now. I was sweating like Stu Nitzkin on rib night. Not the most attractive thing. Alright, work tomorrow. I'm sunburn and schmidts. Big ups to all your eggs.

Have fun springing forward. Lemon party on Friday. Come if you wanna be happy for the rest of your life.

99 Problems But My Eggs Aint One

It’s been a while. I’ve somewhat missed you all. But I’ve been busy lately. I’m sorry I haven’t written. I know. I’m sorry. I had work and a wedding and conducted a taxi and went to the rural clinic and went on a date and bought suspenders and a hat. I know it’s not an excuse, but please forgive me.

Quick story:
Today I went up to help a patient get moved into hospice care and as I was talking to her son, his brother came out and told us that he thought she had just died, but couldn’t tell. Then the doctor walked in and said she thought she was dead too because she couldn’t hear a heart beat. She THOUGHT she was dead because there was no heartbeat. I was waiting for someone to just poke her with a stick as the final test of life. Welcome to an African hospital.

Wedding:
Born again Christian wedding. It was 105 degrees outside and I knew it was that hot because I walked outside and said, “Hey, I shoulda put deodorant on my eggs.” That’s when you know it’s 105 outside. We sat inside in an un-air-conditioned barn-like room for about 5 hours and listened to gospel music and prayer. The preacher had a hat on like Aretha during the inauguration. It was all in Zulu, but the language of love needs no translation. It was a wonderful wedding with some nice spicy food, which worried me because there was no TP in the bathrooms and in case of O-ring emergency I woulda been totally screwed. But when the lunch was over and I was ready to shake what my mama gave me, everyone got up and started to leave. I never got to bring my milkshake the yard at all, so the wedding was a bit of a disappointment. I did post some pics of my co-workers and I and the wedding ceremony on the flickr page, so check em out.

Taxi Cab Confessionals:
I’m schmidts. But that’s not much of a confession, because most of you already knew that. But I did conduct a mini taxi on Sunday with Thami and Ingrid. Mini taxis here are a bit like playing Russian roulette with your eggs on the road. Stop signs are more like suggestions and you get an extra five points if you hit a pedestrian. My job as the conductor was to yell out the window at strangers and try to get them to come into our taxi. It was kind of like I was a peterass and was inviting people into my van, so the whole thing was a bit uncomfortable for me. Yelling out the window was fun. It was like selling peanuts at Wrigley. “Peanuts! Get your nuts! Who want’s my nuts?” But instead of joyous, drunk, trough sliding Cub fans, I was met with fear and confusion. At one point I was just asking people on the sidewalk if they wanted a ride. “Please come in. Half price. Are you sure I can’t give you a ride? Please. Ride with us.” Then after getting no responses I started offering people money for a verbal response instead of a blank stare. “1 Rand for any response at all. C’mon! I’m looking for a verbal response. Anyone?” The day didn’t go too well let’s just leave it at that.

Suspenders & Hat:
Look at me. I’m neat.

Date Night:
I guess I would call it a date but the woman involved probably wouldn’t. That’s when you know it’s already off to a bad start. We went to the movies. She suggested Bride Wars. I lied and said I hadn’t seen it so I saw it for the second time. Definitely worse the second time. And I definitely am way more schmidts because I paid to see that film twice. The whole movie I kept trying to like put my elbow on the hand rest and move closer to this broad, but she wasn’t having any of it. Maybe it’s just not meant to be. You know you aren’t smooth as eggs when a woman is more into watching Bride Wars than talking to you. Rough.

Walking Eggs:
This weekend I am participating in a Fun Walk for the hospital. It is along the beach and it cost me 5 Rand to be in. So let me get this straight. I am paying money to wake up early on a Saturday and walk around in the blazing hot sun. How did they get anyone to agree to this? I mean, I know why I agreed. I can’t say no to people. I remember once this guy selling magazines got me to buy like 150 bucks worth of shitty magazines. I could have said no. But it was cold with my skirt on and I couldn’t turn him away empty handed. Same thing with this fun walk. Hey Rooney, you wanna walk early on Saturday in the heat? Oh wait, and also pay to do it? Obvi! Can’t wait. Fun Walk? Nay. I’m waking up early and paying to drive to the beach so I can walk all morning. The only good thing I see coming of this is that there will be many broads there walking in cute outfits. Maybe I will walk hand in hand with one of them. But no one has gotten laid in cargo shorts since Nam, so I doubt it.

I want to send a shout out to my buddy Bag who is back from his around the world trip. He saw the world and spread the word of schmidts to those who would listen and for that I am eternally grateful. He recently sent me a question for my mailbag edition, so this weekend I will be answering it. It requires a full post due to its complexity. Take a look at it and maybe we can all discuss…

Rooney,
What do I do if my roommate brings a girl to our hotel room while I’m sick with diarrhea and proceeds to have intercourse with her and then the girl keeps saying my name? Also, who is more schmidts in that situation? My roommate, the girl or me?

eggcellent