De Facto Circle Jerks, Stupid Shit and The Confrontational Me...

This week has been a doozy already.  If you're not familiar with my random, you will be soon.

Had a conference on Monday with The Nature Boy and his 7th grade teachers.  I'll share the reason for that conference later when I resume the Nature Boy Series.  For now, let's just say I basically called his Language Arts teacher a liar - because she is, she got snarky and as a result I fully wanted to beat that bitch upside the head with my new Rocket Dog clogs.

And how many times in a week would you imagine one without a penis gets to participate in a circle jerk at the office?   It's only TUESDAY people!!!  And for the record, I'm the one without the penis.  And if you don't know what a circle jerk is, urbandictionary.com should set you straight.  Personally, I like definition number 6.

Tonight my dumbass managed to foursquare myself a little too close to home.  Who does that shit in this day and age of lunatics and people you have to fuck up in the parking lot of Wal-Marts? Then Facebook's "People You May Know" feature presented me with a crazy I knew from back in the day.  Took me a while to get rid of that crazy, so I can only hope that my face didn't show up on HIS page as well.  Now I'm all freaked out and I have to move.  

And did I lose myself?  Again?  The kids are with their father this week.  Until late tomorrow at least.  I have been BORED off my ass.   Since when have I not been able to find something to do?  Read?  Blog?  Shop? Thought about scrubbing floorboards for a quarter of a second, settled on e-screaming at people on FB. 

Now that I think of it, last week was a doozy too.  Got into a couple of Facebook fights.  Yes, it's juvenile.  Yes, I'm better than that.  Yes, I have better things to do... oh wait, see paragraph above.   Actually, neither fight was my fault.  I was just minding my business, fa la la la la, and watching the posts of a hundred other people who didn't have anything better to do either and finally, finally, I couldn't take it anymore.

If you say stupid shit on Facebook, or in the real world even, eventually someone's going to come along and call you on it.  Every now and then, that someone has to be me - because sometimes I have no self-control.   Most of the people on my facebook page are friends or family, but there are more than a couple that I know through the blogging world or some chatroom.  You can't choose your family, your friends are people so near and dear that you tend to overlook a lot of their stupid, but the people you don't know in real life - well, they're fair game.

Stupid shit on FB #1:  FB friend (terribly) misquotes Bill Gates.  More than once.

I responded, short and sweet - "Not Bill Gates.  Check snopes.com"

FB friend responded - "It's still good information, doesn't matter where it came from."

Umm, yeah the hell it does, you dope.  As a teacher and grad student, your ass oughta know better.  Conversation went downhill from there and ended with her calling me a petty, caddy (that's how she spelled it, not me), hater.  THEN it took me the next day and a half to get "Cadillac Car" from Dreamgirls out of my head.  "Got me a Cadillac, Cadillac, Cadillac... got me a Cadillac carrrrrr...."

Stupid Shit on FB #2:  Someone said:  "Kanye West called George Bush a Racist during the Hurricane Katrina telethon."

Umm, no he didn't.  He surely MEANT that George Bush was a racist, he surely wanted to INFER that George Bush is a racist, and if you ask him today, he might flat out tell you that he thinks the Goober is a racist.  However, that ain't what he said in that particular moment in time.  I am no Kanye fan, I think he's an ass, but if you're going to play the he-said-she-said race card, get that shit right.

The poster replied with a textbook definition of racist.  "Racism is defined as the hatred or intolerance of other races.  So yes, Kanye West DID say that George Bush was a racist." 

What the hell kinda math is that?  How do you get from one sentence to the other?  What he said and what he inferred is two different things.  And thanks for defining racist for me, after 34 years of being black - and I mean failed-paper-bag-test black, I really had no idea!!!

Well, conversation deteriorated from there and ended up with the poster calling me a ghetto baby-mama mad at the world because my welfare check hadn't arrived on time and telling me to get a dictionary and an education. 

Life would be less adventurous if I knew how to shut my mouth, wouldn't it? 

I should go to bed.  

And why is this heifer upstairs vacuuming her floor at 10:35 at night?  Do that shit in the daytime (or don't do it at all)... like normal people. 

Peace,

~N

Every Now and Then...

...I have to take a moment to remember why I am.

No, that was not a typo.  I did not intend to say who I am, I mean to say why I am.

A lot of us spend a good portion of our lives trying to figure out who we are.   Can you do that without understanding why you came to be the person that you are?

~N

The Inaugural Poo...

When you're in a new relationship, unless you're just rude as a rule, you go out of your way to make sure your bodily functions are on their best behavior, especially if you're the female portion of the duo.

No peeing, burping, farting, pooping, pooting, shitting, sharting ANYwhere in his vicinity... for a while.

In the beginning, it's ok.  You don't see each other that often so you can continue with your normal rituals without any interruption. 

I'm pretty regular so if I don't get home to my toilet/office by 5:30, I tend to get a little cranky.  Back then, I'd never see him until after 6 p.m. during the week and by that time I'd already shit and showered and was sitting pretty as a peach by the time he arrived.

As the relationship progressed and we begin to spend more time together routines became easily altered.  Once I had to go straight from my work to his house so we could go see a play.  Had to figure out before hand when I was going to be able to get my toilet time in...  I decided I would just go to the bathroom in the theatre and hope that things were... quick...  You know... 

Fast forward to today.  I've been seeing him for a while.  It's time we share some things, right?  He needs to know that my ass doesn't always smell like roses and sunshine.  He knows that I'm lactose intolerant, but he also needs to know that I'm regular.  When I gotta go, I gotta go, and when I gotta go and I can't go, it sometimes becomes painful. 

Ever wonder why I have such a bad attitude on a regular basis?  9 times out of 10 it's probably because I have to shit and my asshole hurts. 

And, he needs to know that there are times when I take a damn book into the bathroom so I can get my read on while my bowels are getting their move on.  I consider it an activity of liesure.  Don't be askin' me why I'm still in the bathroom.  I'm reading, shit. 

What?

Hey, if you're gonna love me, you gotta love ALL of me.  That's what Lysol is for.

Anyway, this past weekend, I said to hell with it, and I took my inaugural dump in my boyfriend's toilet. 

Why should I be all cramped up and cranky all out of some strange, misplaced sense of propriety? 

I was so nervous it took me 3 matches to light the candle on the stand beside the toilet.  *And I didn't bring my own matches and candle, so I guess somebody else is regular too, huh?*  Sat down, made myself at home, scrolled through some Facebook updates on my phone, read a few online articles, handled my business.  When done, I flushed the toilet and proceeded over to the sink to wash my hands.  I noticed that the toilet was still running loudly so I turned around to look. 

There is no better word to describe what I saw but HORROR.  The toilet wasn't flushing properly.  The water was going the wrong way.  Up.  Up!!!!!!  The excrement that was formerly P.F. Changs, Chicfil-A and I believe a Snickers bar was swirling around near the top of the toilet bowl, dangerously close to the top of the toilet bowl.

No, no,  no!!!!  I started to panic, whispering, "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!!!!"  Thinking, "I'm going to have to call him in here to help me with the toilet!  Whispering, "I've already taken my quick-weave off and there's shit in the toilet!  Oh God! Oh God!!!!!"  Thinking, "No, no, no!"

Then I imagined the look of HORROR and disgust that would be on his face if he opened the bathroom door and saw what I was seeing and then immediately began to think, 'Oh Shit! Oh Shit!  Ohhhh Shit!!!"

Literally, OH SHIT!!

Can you imagine the embarassment?  Can you imagine that shit? 

I almost slapped myself to assert some control over the situation... really, what else can you do when your boyfriend's toilet is about to overflow with stuff that came outta your ass?

I stood there, disgusted, watching the shit go round and round, wondering, hoping, praying... and then, the toilet stopped running. 

"Whew!"  (for real)

In the silence, over the thud of my thumping heart, I strained trying to hear what he was doing in the other room.  I heard music playing so I hoped he hadn't heard my panicked, whispered meltdown.  Better yet, I hoped he hadn't heard the toilet still running and even better, I was glad he hadn't come to investigate. 

Now, the water and my parcels of poo were still at a dangerous level in the bowl.  The water wasn't subsiding, but it had at least stopped churning. 

What to do?  If I flush it again and it's still stopped up, then it's definitely going to overflow this time and then the shit won't be in the bowl, the shit will be on the floor. 

HORROR!!!

I begin to lose it again and self-dialogue. 

"N, I canNOT belieeeeeeeeeve the first time you decide to take a dump in his toilet you clog it up!  What the heck were you thinking?!?"

"Well, I was thinking I needed to take a dump, I wasn't thinking it'd be a good day to introduce him to the offspring of my innards in such a... disgustingly intimate way..."

"Still, you couldn't have held that shit until you got home?"

"Umm, no.  When you're on the toilet and you get the urge, sometimes you just gotta shit, location be damned!"

"You shoulda held it.  You coulda held it."

"I betcha shoulda-coulda woulda taken a dump if he'd had the opportunity.  I did, so I did!  Question is, what to do now?!?!"

See why I wanted to slap myself?

I decided to flush the toilet.  First though, I removed anything that was in the floor around the toilet, just in case.   It probably would have been a good idea to locate a plunger, but I didn't want to have to ask where it was and I didn't want to go rambling through his cabinets. 

For the record, please see the following graphic for generally accepted plunger placement.  I'm just saying. 

I flushed.

I watched.

I prayed.

It swirled.

It disappeared with a nasty, wet whoosh sound.

Thank GOD.  It worked.

Shit-storm averted. 

I leaned back on the counter watching the now emptied toilet look all... empty.  I thought about what could have been and the embarassment easily resurfaced.  What's the best way to get over something like that? 

Tell it. 

So I told him.  "Hey honey, I was takin' a dump in your toilet and you know what?  For about 5 minutes there, everything went all to shit."

~N