In the olden days, we just used a cork and hurried home
UPDATE: Wow. I really posted that, didn't I? Behold, the power of tequila.
For the record, my ass is just fine today, thank you.
To paraphrase South Park's Eric Cartman, How come everything this week has involved things either coming in or going out of my ass?
I don't know. That's just the deal, m'kay? And besides: it's Drunken Blogging Day, and my tequila would like to say a few things to y'all.
Today, for the second time this week, I had lunch at Mongolian BBQ. For anyone who hasn't seen the hearts coming out of my eyes, I love that place (well, technically, those places - it's a chain). I can have something totally different every time, and if it sucks, I can only blame myself.
Not that I have something totally different every time; I can be horribly predictable when it comes to dining. There are some restaurants I visit often enough that the server scarcely needs to take my order. Last weekend, I was at the Japanese steakhouse, seated at a table with nine other people, and the waitress zeroed in on me first, saying "You drink Sprite, right?" Yes, ma'am, I do. And obviously, I'm in here a little too often. When I was eating at Don Pablo's once a week, our waitress knew my entire order, every time, before I gave it. Any variation was rare and would cause much raising of the eyebrows.
Notice I say "when I was eating at Don Pablo's once a week"? Well, probably about the time all my stress at home kicked into high gear, I found myself becoming terribly sensitive to foods that I'd previously been able to eat with no penalty for early withdrawal. Suddenly, a cup of salsa at DP's would send me screaming for the bathroom, at a dead run, within minutes of finishing the last bite. Certain other foods that I really like, eel for example, began to have the same effect on me. I'm sure it can be tied directly to my nerves, but knowing that didn't do anything to stop the hurry-up-and-get-back-out attitude so much food had taken with me.
Consequently, I've had to choose my foods and seasoning carefully. I tend to go for the not-so-spicy sauces at Mongolian BBQ so as not to upset the assle cart. And I have been fine as a result.
So, today, I did what any garden-variety moron would do, and I switched up for the kung pao sauce on my mahi mahi. It's Friday, it's Lent, and I was with a passel of Catholics, so I pretended to be one of them and ate fish. Well, no - it's true I was surrounded by Catholics, but the mahi mahi was on my plate simply because there were no crawdaddies. Motherfucker! I become extremely annoyed when there are no crawdaddies. Anyway, I was just fine at lunch, and even the ride back was not in the least uncomfortable.
Then I got back to the office and sat down at my desk. And the kung pao went kung pao!
Within perhaps 30 seconds, I was up, out of my chair, and pushing women, children, and lepers out of my way in an insane dash for the bathroom. I could tell that things were going to happen on their schedule, not mine, and my only hope for salvation was the speed with which I could cloister myself in the stall and drop my drawers.
The good news is I made it before something terribly unfortunate happened and I earned myself a new nickname. I'm not crazy about my current nickname, Ol' Plain Titties, but it beats the hell out of "Almost Home" or "Poop Girl" doesn't it? The bad news is that the seas were rough. There are many, many areas in my life where modesty is severely lacking, but in a public bathroom I usually display enough modesty for any ten vestal virgins in white gloves and perfect lipstick. Today, there was no margin for modesty. Things were happening, things beyond my control, and with all the racket I may or may not have been making, I was hoping hoping hoping that no one would come into the bathroom and have to bear witness to my junkyard butt symphony. Someone did come in, somewhere around the aria, and she finished and left rather quickly, for which I did not blame the intelligent mystery woman.
When the battle had been fought, I pulled myself together as best I could, pretended to have a scrap of dignity left, and hobbled back to my office. As I sat in front of my computer to attempt to complete some meaningful work after my hotseat joyride, I looked up and beheld a green note taped to my monitor. Of course, it had been Balulah in the bathroom. So she left me a nice little note, asking if she should join in with a sympathy AAARGH! There was also an Immodium chewable tablet attached to the note.
That tablet was more welcome than bag balm at a chapped nipples conference.
(who the fuck decided it was a good idea to give me tequila and a high-speed internet connection?)
For the record, my ass is just fine today, thank you.
To paraphrase South Park's Eric Cartman, How come everything this week has involved things either coming in or going out of my ass?
I don't know. That's just the deal, m'kay? And besides: it's Drunken Blogging Day, and my tequila would like to say a few things to y'all.
Today, for the second time this week, I had lunch at Mongolian BBQ. For anyone who hasn't seen the hearts coming out of my eyes, I love that place (well, technically, those places - it's a chain). I can have something totally different every time, and if it sucks, I can only blame myself.
Not that I have something totally different every time; I can be horribly predictable when it comes to dining. There are some restaurants I visit often enough that the server scarcely needs to take my order. Last weekend, I was at the Japanese steakhouse, seated at a table with nine other people, and the waitress zeroed in on me first, saying "You drink Sprite, right?" Yes, ma'am, I do. And obviously, I'm in here a little too often. When I was eating at Don Pablo's once a week, our waitress knew my entire order, every time, before I gave it. Any variation was rare and would cause much raising of the eyebrows.
Notice I say "when I was eating at Don Pablo's once a week"? Well, probably about the time all my stress at home kicked into high gear, I found myself becoming terribly sensitive to foods that I'd previously been able to eat with no penalty for early withdrawal. Suddenly, a cup of salsa at DP's would send me screaming for the bathroom, at a dead run, within minutes of finishing the last bite. Certain other foods that I really like, eel for example, began to have the same effect on me. I'm sure it can be tied directly to my nerves, but knowing that didn't do anything to stop the hurry-up-and-get-back-out attitude so much food had taken with me.
Consequently, I've had to choose my foods and seasoning carefully. I tend to go for the not-so-spicy sauces at Mongolian BBQ so as not to upset the assle cart. And I have been fine as a result.
So, today, I did what any garden-variety moron would do, and I switched up for the kung pao sauce on my mahi mahi. It's Friday, it's Lent, and I was with a passel of Catholics, so I pretended to be one of them and ate fish. Well, no - it's true I was surrounded by Catholics, but the mahi mahi was on my plate simply because there were no crawdaddies. Motherfucker! I become extremely annoyed when there are no crawdaddies. Anyway, I was just fine at lunch, and even the ride back was not in the least uncomfortable.
Then I got back to the office and sat down at my desk. And the kung pao went kung pao!
Within perhaps 30 seconds, I was up, out of my chair, and pushing women, children, and lepers out of my way in an insane dash for the bathroom. I could tell that things were going to happen on their schedule, not mine, and my only hope for salvation was the speed with which I could cloister myself in the stall and drop my drawers.
The good news is I made it before something terribly unfortunate happened and I earned myself a new nickname. I'm not crazy about my current nickname, Ol' Plain Titties, but it beats the hell out of "Almost Home" or "Poop Girl" doesn't it? The bad news is that the seas were rough. There are many, many areas in my life where modesty is severely lacking, but in a public bathroom I usually display enough modesty for any ten vestal virgins in white gloves and perfect lipstick. Today, there was no margin for modesty. Things were happening, things beyond my control, and with all the racket I may or may not have been making, I was hoping hoping hoping that no one would come into the bathroom and have to bear witness to my junkyard butt symphony. Someone did come in, somewhere around the aria, and she finished and left rather quickly, for which I did not blame the intelligent mystery woman.
When the battle had been fought, I pulled myself together as best I could, pretended to have a scrap of dignity left, and hobbled back to my office. As I sat in front of my computer to attempt to complete some meaningful work after my hotseat joyride, I looked up and beheld a green note taped to my monitor. Of course, it had been Balulah in the bathroom. So she left me a nice little note, asking if she should join in with a sympathy AAARGH! There was also an Immodium chewable tablet attached to the note.
That tablet was more welcome than bag balm at a chapped nipples conference.
(who the fuck decided it was a good idea to give me tequila and a high-speed internet connection?)
Katy Barzedor proclaimed this to be so at 10:22 PM
16 of you felt the overwhelming need to say somethin':
Immodium is the shit for the shits.
"junkyard butt symphony"
I have all of their albums. Even the ultra rare half-speed master pressings.
I have had similar episodes at work. I have found it best to let it rip and have no mercy for others in the vicinity. My favorite part is when you come out of the restroom, being tailed by a green fog and peeling paint, to look right at the first person to see you and give a shudder like something just crawled up your spine. Or out your ass as the case may be.
Jesus, Buck, you are one descriptive 'ho - and that's a good thing, gol' durn it.
I'm about on my fifth ginintonic (one word) and I think I need to stop because everything just keeps moving on my screen.
My ass has taken over. Anything resembling "quiet", "modest", or "please god don't take my intestines with it" has been abandoned in favor of "FULL SPEED AHEAD!"
I had to come to grips with it quite awhile ago. Hopefully yours settles, and you can reign supreme over your sphincters once again.
Let’s see, how many comments can I make on this?
Favorite restaurants and they know what you’re gonna order? I have a couple like that; they know me by name and probably my credit card number, too.
Eel? You really eat that shit? The last time I was with a woman who ate eel, I ended up spending the night with her not where we had planned, but in an emergency room where she was treated for food poisoning.
Those quick trips to the toilet keep from shitting in your thong (as if shit would be stopped by one)? Bucky, have you considered irritable bowel syndrome? It can be caused or amplified by stress. Matter of unfortunate fact, I had an attack of it this afternoon. The damned thing is: I had not eaten anything since the night before.
IBS is a bitch.
Might want to look into that to see if you got it, Bucky...I have it, too, and when I get stressed, there's not enough Charmin to save my ass. Literally.
*stops, thinks, grins wryly*
I am the queen of TMI tonight.
Oh man, one of these days perhaps I will tell you about the time I was trapped in an 81 Ford Granada, seven miles from home, and in desperate need of relief.
Perhaps.
If you are very good.
Bucky, rid yourself of as much red meat as possible and be amazed at the...outcome.
Well, since everyone else is TMIing around here, I've had a bit of a problem the last year or so. Unfortunately, the things that were the worst for me were fresh vegetables and fruits, and anything high fiber. How's a girl supposed to stay healthy and in shape on a diet that's free of those things. Oh, and sometimes alcohol. That really bites.
Hope you're feeling better today.
Oh man Bucky, that sucks.
A friend told me about a friend of hers...
(yeah, this sounds awfully legit, doesn't it?? Seriously, it's not me)
...who was on a 8 hour drive across northern Ontario two weeks ago (in a friends car). You ever been to Northern Ontario?? Nothing, Nada...you need a washroom? Use the side of the road.
Anyhow, she was 4 hours into said drive and without warning she shit herself - in her friend's car. Completely emberrased, she got out, changed got back in and they continued on. About 10 minutes later, she did it again. This happened a total of four times in an hour. She had no warning and couldn't stop herself quick enough to get out of the car.
Needless to say, she paid for a professional cleaning of her friend's car.
Story time, OVER.
Hope you feel better Bucky!
Well...alrighty then.
Feel better today I hope?
It always is an emergency for me. The problem is, I am a huge fan of the "Home Toilet Advantage". I just don't get the job done in public.
All this IBS talk makes me think of that movie Ladykillers -- the remake? Hi-larious. One of the characters met his girlfriend at an IBS weekend -- Irritable Bowel Singles. The disorder figures prominently in the movie. Hey, you might as well laugh . . . or blog . . .
Glad your ass is fine today, Bucky :)
I love pooping.
That is all.
Better to have screaming shits than to be one of those people who look like they haven't taken a shit since the Reagan years, that's all I have to say.
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