Mick

An outstanding idea indeed!

All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order for my wife. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 0 through 4 (I write a lot of software) for your convenience: 0.Occupied. 1.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one. 2.Poo on seat. 3.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat. 4.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of toilet. Clearly, it had to be Stall #1. I trudged back, entered, dropped trousers and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful Sh**r. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot. I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was louder than it needed to be. Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Sh**er was blathering to Mrs. Sh**er about the sh**ty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get down to business soon, my day would be getting even crappier. Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a tissue-tearing emission of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently. Once my butt cheeks stopped flapping three things became apparent: (1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible stench. It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" blast had ended his conversation in mid-sentence. "Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??" Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid poop had actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. Talk about lava. But for now, all I could do was hang on for the ride. Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up... in my mouth... not... make it... tell the kids... love them... oh God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching. Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by string of swear words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet. There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth. As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know. I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom. Disclaimer: This account is in no way biographical. The pictures and accounts of this incident.....

Trust me, Li has been fingerprinted so many times her fingers are turning black. We are at five times and counting.

Good to hear from you Dave, although I am sorry for the denial for no apparent reason. Just speculation, but I had the thought that you might have been a victim of quotas and the numbers game, pure and simple. it ain't fair by a long shot, but it also isn't surprising. Keep trying my friend and keep us posted. Really miss you from the old RR days.

I prefer my donkey skin juice shaken, not stirred.

Yes, I know this is Mick, what is the deal with dill pickles??? We'll buy a jar and then she'll eat the whole thing in a day. The last jar, I asked her to save me one pickle for when I make myself a burger, but that lonely pickle was just too irresistiable for my lao po and she could not help herself. And, she isn't even pregnant. Honestly, it's like a drug. She just can't stop eating those pickles, once she starts. 180604[/snapback] Oh, I can relate. Especially when Li was pregnant, anything related to a pickle was an endangered species. She ate pickles, pickled vegetables in mass quantities and especially spicy, pickled dofu. She still eats pickled this and that. She is not, however, too fond of dill pickles. I guess she prefers the salty taste to sour. But then, when she was expecting, she ate dills and anything else she could get her hands on.

When we lived in China, Li, along with numerous other females I knew, often ate the black chicken for all sorts of ailments. I knew one woman who had a miscarriage and, as a result, took to the bed for a couple of weeks. Her husband went to the market every day to get a black chicken. I have tasted it and it ain't too bad, actually.

Li and I will soon be entering our ninth year together. I will write more on why our relationship works so well when I have more time (I'm on deadline at work right now). Suffice to say for now, the two of us not only love one another deeply, but we respect one another, support one another, and, very importantly I think, we encourage one another. More late.

Congrats and the very best wishes for a wonderful life together. Enjoy!!!

Congrats and enjoy a great future with much happiness.

Fantastic! Best wishes for a successful interview!

Just visited the Chinese food store down in Huntsville and stocked up on Lao Gan Ma. Last night I used a generous helping of it to flavor some thinly sliced chicken, snow peas, carrots and celery that I whipped up in the wok. Yum Yum Yum!!!! Lao Gan Ma also makes a brand of pickled dofu that is great. Li really likes pickled dofu, as does little Salina. That isn't surprising though. When Li was pregnant, I often found her in the kitchen in the middle of the night eating pickled dofu and leek dumplings. Actually, when she was pregnant, I often found her in the kitchen eating all sorts of things. Anyway, I am feasting on Lao Gan Ma these days.

Great news, indeed! Now, enjoy your life together.

Welcome to the Greatest Show on Earth! What was that line about the left hand knowing what the right hand was doing, or the right hand knowing what the left hand was doing, or, what was it again..... I am glad they came up with biometrics. Otherwise, my wife's fingers would be black by now!

How did I get dragged into this? 178230[/snapback] Mick. I seem to remember you posting about the long wait, drive w/baby and/or repeated fingerprints. That is what I was thinking/referring to. Hope that didn't upset you somehow. 178284[/snapback] No, not upset at all. In fact, you are so right about our ongoing fingerprint experiences. We have made two, count 'em, two long trips with the baby in tow, just to be fingerprinted. Li has now been fingerprinted a total of five times, with a fee charged each time I might add. Hopefully, we only have one more hurdle to clear. We are due to have green card conditions removed next December. Will file all the paperwork three months in advance as required. Let's just hope they don't ask for more fingerprints.

Best wishes for a successful interview. As for the fingerprints, we only had to do them five times.

How did I get dragged into this?

I don't have much to add to what has already been said. However, I would think that the denial had little to do with lack of phone logs or things like that. Something must have raised a red flag at the Consulate and it is my feeling that you should have the right to know what it was. I would press to find out. If there is any way you can get them to cut to the chase before the paperwork is sent back to the States, that would be best. Like others have said, if it leaves GZ you will wind up at the bottom of a stack on some buffoon's desk. Keep the faith and press forward with diligence and courage. We wish you the best and you are in our thoughts and prayers. Please keep us posted.

Like most things in this process, different places do different things. When we started the AOS process, the civil surgeon we saw insisted that a skin test for TB was required. I told him it was not. He refused to sign the papers without the test. I called BCIS (as it was known then); they told him point blank that it was not required. He had the nerve to tell them they were wrong and still refused to sign the papers without the test. He never looked at the x-rays. In the end, we drove 150 miles to another civil surgeon, who also said the skin test was required. Eventually, she had the skin test. When we had our AOS interview, I asked the interviewer why there was so much confusion over the skin test. He said he wasn't aware of any confusion and that the test was not required. Try telling that to a civil surgeon who wants your money.

Welcome and best wishes. As many have mentioned, it can be a long process but well worth it in the long run. Be patient and enjoy yourself, especially the time you spend in China.

You are so right about the info needing to be input into DHS computer system. However, two weeks is a real reach. In our case, we went through POE on March 29. Info finally showed up in DHS computer in early August. Did that surprise me, after having gone through the Black Hole. Not one little bit!

Last track I had of the Mad Frenchman, he was in Broward County, somewhere out west of Ft. Lauderdale. Prior to that, he was in Kansas of all places. Sure do miss that guy. We went through a lot of craziness together. In fact, he still owes me a box of chocolates for Valentines Day almost three years ago. You remember that little episode, Don?

Incredible story Bob! Your persistence and determination won the day! Congrats!!!!!

Wasn't sure where to put this, so I put it here. Isn't it about time for Candle's third birthday? B) :candle: :candle: :candle:

That is just fantastic news Jason. Congrats to both of you!