Stupid Shit, Stinking Shit

One great big festering neon distraction,I've a suggestion to keep you all occupied.
Learn to swim.Learn to swim.Learn to swim.
Mom's gonna fix it all soon.Mom's comin' round to put it back the way it ought to beeeeeeee.......

Some of you may remember the Frylock days of mine from Vodka, Sex and Cheese. That's all done, let's move on...

GIB (Guy I'm Banging - I'm such a prig aren't I) decide to get away for the weekend. We unanimously choose Baltimore Inner Harbor, leaving Friday. It's absofuckinglutely beautiful out Thursday and we decide to cut out early. I have a work disaster that requires attention til almost 9pm. Back to Friday morning. We get some food, movies, alcohol and settle in for the night at his house. These are numbers 8 and 9 of movies we don't actually watch - the best kind.

Next morning, we each shower. He dresses, I'm towelling. I dress but am faced with the dilemma: I have to shit. I can't possibly allow him to re-enter the bathroom once I shit. I can't shit in public restrooms unless it's an absolute emergency. I have a 2hr car ride. We're adults here, we've acknowledged we have certain needs in the past so I go back upstairs saying I need to um, GO. He has one of those nice big homes with the sunken tub, vanity area and shower in the main bath and then a little closetty room within that room that holds the WC. I'm reading. Round One, Courtesy Flush (I'm not taking any chances he may come back upstairs and be appalled by my abilities, AND, I may read but I don't need to wallow). Ate lots of roughage + vodka/club suddenly expelled. Whoo. WHY ARE MY CHEEKS ALL WET? That's some sprayback. No, that's some backUP. The water is full to the brim with my dainty cheeks touching the water/salad mix (are those tomatoes?). I stand, capris at ankles. FUCK.

I kick off my sandals and PLUNGE my arm in elbow deep into the drainage portal (shut up, at least it wasn't brown - that may have been Round 1). I drag out the TP and plop it into a TP 4-pack wrapper that was stuffed back into the veritable TP bail from the wholesale store. Poo water that has trickled over from my plunging, and green and red confetti swirl at my feet and cling to my forearm.

All clear, I oh-so-gently flush again. JEEBUSFUCKINGCHRIST the thing gushes it's whole contents all over the floor mightily! With gusto. I open the door to the main bath, start throwing used and clean bath towels on the floor. I shed my capris (everything else was packed in the car). I'm now sopping up what appeared to be tomato skin spinach miso soup which is pouring out of the mini-room into the main. There's no plunger (WTF?). I put my capris on, having built a fortress of fluffy towels in a semi-circle in the main bath to stanch the flow. I run down (yes, I wiped off my arm) and innocently ask him, with obviously ill-concealed anxiety, if he has a plunger as I've had an accident.

He gets one and mentions that toilet has a problem somewhat regularly (then where was the GotDamn plunger?). I tell him he can't come up with me.

I get in the bathroom and lock the door behind me. Capri removal. I consider the absurdity of my kneeling on the floor of this guy's 700K house in my thong, dragging up salad specked towels weighing 68lbs each and I start giggling hysterically. Shitderella. I can't quit laughing as I'm using the Recently Rejected Charmin to pick up bits of debris from the white tile floor. He asks if I'm okay because I've obviously lost my mind. After I'm sure the floor looks brand new, I peek out and ask for the laundry basket. The dark purple towels looked innocuous but the white ones were embarrassing (though rather festive). I carry it down and load the washer. I then re-shower.

Oh yes, this is SO much better than him ever knowing my turds don't actually smell like the gardenias they've been proclaimed to.

(stay tuned for stripper stories from Baltimore/Fell's Point)