Turd Talk

It’s been a while since I’ve blogged. I apologize. I can see a trend that when American Idol is on, I blog less. I’m in an office pool and I write a weekly recap of my thoughts and send to other contestants in our group; which really fulfills my need to write something, hence no new blogs. And I don’t want this blog to become an American Idol recap otherwise I’d post those recaps, so again another reason no blog. SOOOO, I’ve decided to break that cycle with a light and fluffy piece I’m calling Turd Talk.

I have a usual amount of poop related instances that I’m going to share with you today. (And I’m not even going to mention husband-centric stories, cause that’s many blog onto itself. These are all me.)

Embarrassing Story #1 – I remember a time in my relationship that I was not comfortable doing #2 anywhere near my boyfriend Mr. Michaelson. I would say for at least the first two years of our relationship, I would excuse myself to go home if I felt the need to pinch off a loaf. So, I’m at his parents’ house and I’ve got to doodie. Michael, bless his heart, convinces me to stay and use his mom’s bathroom. It’s one of those occasions that if I go home, I’ll stay home but the night is still kind of young and he just wants his super-hot girlfriend to stick around a bit longer. I relent. And what happens? The first time I shit at his house, I clog the damn toilet! Better yet, there’s no plunger to get my linkin’ log loose and flushed away. I have to ask for assistance because I don’t know where in the house their plunger is stored. No matter the fact that everyone poops, it’s still highly embarrassing to ask your boyfriend for a plunger for your extra-large dump.

Embarrassing Story #2 – I fart. I fart a lot. I am not embarrassed by farts. I feel like it’s a built-in funny joke that everyone in the world possesses. So, imagine me alone in my car. I have to fart. No big deal right? I’m alone, and there’s no one to offend or smell my brew, so I let loose. This particular fart requires a very slight bit of push. It feels a bit funny but I ignore that, whatever. I arrive at work and I get busy working. I take my first bathroom break and I notice my moment of gas was a SHART! (Urban dictionary that if for some crazy reason you don’t know what a shart is.) So what do I do? I tell my nearest co-worker I’m taking a super early break if the boss asks and I run to Target. I get baby wipes to clean my rear end and new underwear. When I return to work, the boss isn’t happy I ran out. I blame my non-existent period to my boss. I understand her reasoning to please talk to her before I leave but I didn’t know how to say “I didn’t want to stand in your small office and risk you smelling my feces.” It was not an enjoyable experience.

Some observations about my Droppings:

1. I always look afterwards. Dr. Oz says that’s ok.

2. I’m consistently surprised at the size. I’ll have ones that I’m sure will be super long and I find they are nugget sized. Or others that came out so quick, they gotta be tiny but they actually wrap around the porcelain.

3. I absolutely can’t go in a woman’s restroom if others are around. Not gonna happen.

4. It once smelled like spaghetti and I found it disturbing.

5. I wipe front to back. Back to front (not super high, don’t want dookie near my cootie). Front to back. If I need to repeat, I do all three wipes again until satisfied.

I’ve got a few other stories but I think I’ll keep those in storage for another rainy day. Thanks for reading my little ditty on Turd talk. I hope I at least made you chuckle.