I’ve figured out my entire life, my faults, my misgivings, my fears, my strengths and my hopes.

All this was achieved in the time it takes to fly from Chicago to San Francisco. A little over 4 hours.

But I was not to be flying to San Francisco as planned this weekend. No! I would be sitting in a hotel conference room in Rosemont, IL, home of the world-renowned Rosemont theatre and boasting a police force numbering higher than the civilian population. I was to be sitting in the Crowne Plaza Hotel listening to Mr. Bean instructing me on how to live a better life, a more complete life, a happier life. All in a little more than 4 hours.

Allow me, if you will, to back up just a smidgen.

Several weeks ago, while killing untold hours of my life and an even larger count of brain cells in an online chat room, I met a man that invited me to San Francisco to spend a weekend as his property. I was to be his boy for the weekend. A few weeks of discussion and sexual talk ensued and plane tickets were purchased about 10 days before I was to depart (thereby missing the required 14 day advanced purchase and driving up the cost, Damn them!)

Two days after I purchased my tickets, I received an e-mail from my boss informing me of a seminar on customer service tactics and it was very clear that I was to attend without complaints. I contacted my new gentleman friend and informed him of this little glitch that felt more like dropping a steel girder into a wood chipper. I wasn’t too happy, and neither was he. There would be a price to pay when we did indeed meet, of this I was sure. (Not that I would particularly mind that price being paid)

This brings me back to Mr. Bean, or rather, Motivational Bean as I’ve taken to calling him since half way through the seminar when I realized just exactly who the man at the front of the room reminded me of, as he contorted his face into the many emotions so often seen on the great Mr. Bean and spoke so eloquently in his faded British accent. I was angry with him for having cost me a potential sexually rewarding experience at the hands of yet another unknown man.

But he reached out and grabbed my attention, against my wishes and better judgment and reeled me in to his way of thinking. Here I was sitting in a room full of “freight people” listening to Motivational Bean and it was making sense. It was the answer to my search. It’s all at my fingertips.

But I’m not going to share what that is just yet because I got into an argument with my roommate moments ago and I want to put a question before you, my tens of readers.

My roommate, bless her soul, is not usually the cleanest or most thoughtful person on this planet. She’s clean, she’s lovely, she is thoughtful to feelings and often will bring me home some sweet little token that made her think about me and share it with a genuine glee in her voice and demeanor. My comment about her not being thoughtful is more directed towards the results of her actions on those around her. The Andersonville version of the butterfly effect. (Sing it Mariah Carey). She doesn’t give much thought to putting the Heinz back in the fridge or turning off lights or capping my $65.oo Acme Brand pen that is my favorite writing instrument thereby allowing the ink to dry.

I on the other hand am almost painfully aware of how my actions affect the lives of others. I will avoid cell phone calls in restaurants lest I anger fellow diners, slow my car to allow a faster vehicle to pass me and even move out the way on the sidewalk to allow other less thoughtful or considerate persons to pass without so much as veering an inch to allow for my 6′5″ frame to walk on the same 5 foot wide sidewalk as them. These sorts of everyday sacrifices I do to prevent my existence from encumbering and or interfering with their much more important existences.

I also really like to let people know that I’m making these sacrifices with well placed words, glances or noises. However, you could have knocked me over with a sledgehammer when earlier I innocently informed my beloved roommate that I had taken down the shower curtain and washed it in an attempt to remove the months of dirt and grime built up on the once pure-as-driven-snow white curtain and she verbally attacked me accusing me of blaming her for the dirt contained on that once pristine white garment.

My exact words were…

“I washed the shower curtain today, but I couldn’t get off the dirt from that spot on the edge where you grab it to pull it open.”

When I said the above words, I was using the term “you” to include myself as in “You know how when you drop your pants in a bar and someone grabs your ass…” You know, an example of an act that everyone has experienced and is knowledgeable about.

Her response was indignation that I was implying it was “her” dirt and that she was dirty and therefore all her fault that it was dirty in the first place.

Regardless of the fact that deep down, I probably do believe it is mostly her dirt causing the unsightly stain, I don’t think she should have attacked me like that. So I ask.

how wrong was my comment?

Update: We’ve hashed it out and apparently, I’m quite the ass around the house. So I’ll be changing my ways and making every attempt to be less condesending and more open minded and supportive.