Tag Archives: poop

Confessions About Poop, A Very Mature Post

Usually, pooping is untold relief. Sometimes pooping is absolutely dreadful. It may be that morning after a night of drinking. It may be coming home after eating Hooter’s hot wings. It may be the absolute worst one…post baby delivery first poop or as I like to call it third birth.

stinkyface

Actually, this guy has a scratch and sniff picture of Ke$ha

So I comprised a list of the most dreadful poops in life:

The New Relationship Poop at the House.

There's something I've got to tell you...maybe show you if it's impressive enough

There’s something I’ve got to tell you…maybe show you if it’s impressive enough

Despite the obvious truth, everybody poops, it’s really difficult to let a new partner know this. When you progressively spend more time together you inevitably spend enough time for the digestive system to need evacuation. That first time you are at their house and you go to the restroom, it’s terrifying. I personally get anxiety, and don’t want to admit to myself what is about to happen. It’s time to take things to the next level. I go ahead and embarrass myself by announcing, the impending deuce I’m about to drop. Because by not telling and letting said person go in the restroom directly after me only to smell what the Rock is cooking is horrible. Much more embarrassing.  So I usually say, “Um, don’t go in that bathroom, give it like five to ten…just sayin’…love that shirt…look a unicorn on TV!” However, once that initial earth shattering monumental step has been taken, it’s over forever and pretty soon your opening the door while your duking just to say what a stupid bitch Jill at work is and her new haircut looks like she was infested with lice while in an eighteenth century British prison…fuck her.

Public Poop

I think she has to poop too, so the problem cancels out autonomously

I think she has to poop too, so the problem cancels out autonomously

Pooping in public is intimidating and scary. The private bathrooms offer some solace. The chances of the person following behind you in a one person restroom being someone you know aren’t very likely, there being like billions of people on the planet. However even strangers are troublesome in a multiple stall restroom. They walk in, and they know that your pair of feet is the cause for the hearty aroma. They know you had to poop and couldn’t finish shopping at Micheal’s, you had to put aside the glitter, yarn and beads to go work on a new project. Now, if I’m finished, I’m too ashamed to come out if it was indeed me that was pooping. I’ll wait the other person out, thinking, come on, how long are you going to stand in here? However if I’m done and the restroom is empty, I have no problems with someone walking in. It’s a crime with no perpetrator then. See, anyone else could have left that phantom poop. It’s not always the person applying lip gloss at the mirror. I’m not caught at the scene of the crime, now I’m just and accessory after the fact. Or maybe I think this because I don’t readily accuse the person still in the restroom. That’s unfair. The suspect could have fled minutes ago. Either way, I try to make it home.

I am ashamed of nothing.

I am ashamed of nothing.

Well, those two scenarios are probably the worst I can think of. Sometimes I ask God if he’s real, then ask if he’s listening, then I just ask him why do we poop and why did I drink so much coffee? I don’t really get answer, and I don’t forget to courtesy flush.

Me Eat Like Caveman

Okay, so recently, probably thirty minutes ago, I decided to do the Paleo Diet.  What exactly is this you ask? Well, the web site was kind of boring so I sort of skimmed it.  Now that I am probably an expert, I gathered that it is super healthy to eat like our paleolithic ancestors.

It appears that to do this diet you need to eat things that are not processed or cooked.  In order to achieve optimal health you avoid dairy, gluten,refined sugars, and pretty much anything really delicious for the remainder of your life.

This leaves one to eat fruits in a variety, most vegetables, nuts, seeds, and meat. Basically, the abandon of post agricultural revolution foodstuffs.

So this cat has wandered about my apartment complex for the past few days. Apparently underneath my porch is a property of high demand among feral cats as this is the third fucking cat to take residence there. Continuously it meows passionately lamenting the loss of its true owners.  Perhaps the cat was dropped off by someone hoping to be rid of the daunting litter box responsibilities. Maybe this cat mistakenly thought the pee smell on the carpet was where it should relieve itself. Possibly it wouldn’t stop inexplicably going bat shit crazy and tearing through the house like Nancy Grace searching for missing babies (you have seen cats do it and it and I personally get totally freaked out by this).

Inspired by the cavemen, I decided to make a spear out of a curtain rod and a  sharp-edged stone I found outside.  I felt in touch with my ancestors as I designated a new corner to poop in my “cave” and then sharpened the stone to a practical instrument.  Grabbing some bones from a left over rotisserie chicken, I fashioned a more legit hairdo. I have a set of hot pink leopard print bra and panties so I donned them, making my way outside to roll in mud.  I wanted to look authentic.

I tracked my prey to the dumpster (still freaking meowing of course).  I quietly, nimbly advanced, drawing my spear.  The anticipation was great as I steadied my arm, determining the distance from myself to cat. I was transformed to a time eons ago forgotten.  I know at that moment I felt what the cavemen felt as they were ready to claim victory over a saber tooth tiger.  My body became rigid, ready for the attack, my heart racing, pupils dilated. I was steady. I was full of ancient rage and knowledge.

Suddenly a neighbor (this old lady who has grey hair and wears grey all the time thus I call her Gandalf the Grey) just had to throw her trash bag in the dumpster scaring the cat away. The disappointment was immense. I let out a grunt and walked back to my apartment dejected, and hungry.

After I got into my apartment I pooped in the corner and drew some men running from buffalo on my wall.  I started to feel better.  This modern world is very difficult for me but I suppose survival is what humans have done for millions of years (or in my case like just under a hundred).

Perhaps my only hope is to be inadvertently frozen in the ground.  Hopefully to be unearthed by two high school kids one of which is a thirty year old comedian. They can then become involved in hilarious mishaps due to my quirky caveman ways. I create some cool dances to do at the prom and play  Rad Mobile.  Everyone is a winner.

Mom Love’s Me Best…Probably.

Every mother will tell their children that they love them all equally.  I have to admit that if I did have two or more children and one of them chewed with their mouth open, I would be inclined to love that one less.  Seriously, I believe that parents with multiple offspring probably love one child more than the others.  Perhaps 3 of their kids have receding, weak chins and the youngest has a strong, prominent chin (with a cleft)?

One December, two weeks before Christmas, my brother and I decided we would pull the funniest practical joke of all time (in our opinion).  We could barely contain our hysterics as we told our youngest sister it was actually Christmas day.  We suggested she go ahead and start opening presents.  Naturally, she began ripping away at the paper.  Then we yell, “Mom! Taylor is opening presents!”  Obviously it was a great laugh.  Until we got in trouble.  I am sure at that moment mom loved us more for being so awesome.

Recently, I heard on the Free Beer and Hot Wings show (102.9 the Buzz if you are in Nashville), about a medical procedure that is odd as it is rare.  It is called Fecal Bacteriotherapy. I have inserted the following definition from Wikipedia:

Fecal bacteriotherapy, also known as fecal transfusionfecal transplantstool transplant, or human probiotic infusion (HPI), is a medical treatment for patients withpseudomembranous colitis (caused by Clostridium difficile), or ulcerative colitis that involves restoration of colon homeostasis by reintroducing normal bacterial flora from stool obtained from a healthy donor.

Basically, you have an overgrowth of bad bacteria and poop until your rectum falls out or you have yourself injected with someone else’s poop so you can restore the good bacteria.  I would choose Jamie Lee Curtis. How much of that probiotic yogurt does she eat? Activia, that’s the name!  No doubt she is my designated candidate for helping me restore a harmonious environment within my colon should something bad happen. I mean a child could touch me and we all know their hands are a social gathering for all bacteria. It’s possible for an actor to charitably give me their poop because the donor could be just about anyone.  Obviously they need to be in good health, but no blood type matching would be required as with an organ transplant.

That being said, I think that the ultimate test of my mother’s love is easily summed up into a hypothetical scenario.  Between My brother, sister and myself whose poop would she take if she was in dire need of fecal bacteriotherapy?

I want to ask my mom, but I don’t know if I am emotionally prepared for the response.  It would pain me to know my poop would be second to another sibling.  I shall save this question for the uncomfortable visit to the nursing home, just before my mom starts calling me her brother’s name.   Her answer will be contingent on incontinence care and a room with a window.

Out of Order Means Out of Order

I don’t exactly advocate profiling in a manner that cannot differentiate a potentially dangerous person from someone harmless.  We all know looks are deceiving and appearances are not always indicative of a person’s individual character.

However, its difficult not to assume that the woman wearing  all white Reeboks, slouch socks and jean shorts does not anticipate the reunion tour or Poison and Cinderella in her hometown.

I cannot help but assume that when furniture is left beside the apartment dumpster that Mexicans will not pick it up (I watch, for serious, 10:1 ratio).

Profiling can be insulting when it becomes prejudice but it can also be helpful. The word simply has a negative connotation.  Meaning the FBI’s use of studies, collective data and similar personality traits may help capture a serial killer.  The use of marketing to a certain demographic can result in a successful business.  Also, everyone knows when not hurtful in nature it can make a joke funny ( it’s still a good idea to hold your breath and wait until the black guy in the group laughs…just sayin’).

Where I am lost is; how the hell do you profile the person who poops anywhere besides the toilet in a public restroom?

Equally as bad, the person who observes the out of order sign on the toilet and proceed to poop in the toilet (or on the sign) with brazen disregard.  That’s gross but even worse is the person who adds to the first person’s contribution.  Truthfully I say to you I have seen two different identifiable turds (color, size, etc.) indicating only two things: This one person has a serious gall bladder or pancreatic problem or two different jerks pooped in the broken toilet.

Then of course who is this person that poops outside of the toilet? I am not speaking of the inadvertent smudge on the toilet seat following a tempest bowel movement, it happens. I am speaking of poop on the floor, wall, toilet paper dispenser, sink and ceiling!

I then wonder; do they pick up the turd and place it there?  Do they attempt to poop in a crazy uncomfortable position  that defies laws of physics?  If so, how do they align butthole with target and with deadly accuracy?

Could there be other dimensions and maybe those other world people’s toilets flush into our world?  Perhaps a wizard’s poop is on the automatic hand dryer?

Where I am very concerned is these people walk among us.  This weird ass person could be your librarian, boss, coworker, butcher, mayor, or your mom (or my mom).

I have never looked at a person and thought; they pooped on McDonald’s floor.  Who does this? How does one begin to define the personality type that does this?  Yet another situation where profiling could be good.