Saturday, January 7, 2012

Five Totally Reasonable Poo Related Requests

Where to even begin with this post?  I had an amazing Christmas in Bishop, Ca with E2.  Celebrated again with the fam when we returned, then enjoyed New Year's with some old friends and made a few new ones.  It was all super duper great but do I feel like posting about any of it?  Nope.  Another day.  Right now, it's snowing outside and I'm warm and snuggy in the horrific pajamas my parents gave me for Christmas.  Bright pink with a print of little green frogs in their bath towels with their rubber ducky's.  They're super sexy and E2 can't keep his hands off me when I wear them...or something.

I don't feel like sharing about any of that right now because I'm feeling a smidge demented, irritable and twisty.  I recently went climbing and was excited because I was doing so well.  Better than I had in quite awhile.  In my mildly over-zealous (and maybe slightly intoxicated) state,  I didn't realize it was probably time to quit.  So I didn't.  Until I peeled my fingers off. 

This was after a couple of days with band-aids and neosporin.  Still gross.
They're much better now but while I was still in recovery, I was working on the laptop while E2 was out.  Deep in concentration, (facebook requires an intense focus to really understand the deeper meaning of certain status updates like "enjoying the great weather!") I was startled by an agonizing hacking noise coming from E2's cat.  I look up just in time to see her sharing her lunch with the hardwood floor.

You bet your ass I took a picture of it!

After recovering from my initial horror, I had a number of thoughts run through my head. 

1. There is no fucking way I'm cleaning this up.  I have open wounds on my hand.  Nasty cat bacteria will get in them and I'll end up with elephantiasis of the hands.

2. If I take my laptop to the back room I can pretend I've been back there the whole time and had no idea Kitten just regurgitated her organs on the living room floor and then E2 will have to clean it up since it IS his cat.

3. Maybe I can stare Kitten down and hypnotize her into eating it.  Dogs do it all the time.  She won't be hungry and I won't have to clean.  A win/win!

In the end, I acted like a grown up.  I put my band-aids on, put on some gloves and only gagged once while scooping and scrubbing.

Which brings us to an even bigger abhorrence.  The 5th floor women's rest room at my office.  I've managed to live for 35 years with the misconception that women's bathrooms are cleaner than the men's.  This illusion has recently been shattered and I fear my innocence has been irrevocably lost.

There is an unwritten rule in the office that if your ass feels the urge to purge, you go to the fourth floor.  There are only 6 women who work on that floor so the chances are good the repercussions of your anal explosions will have had time to dissipate before the next person ventures in.

There are, however, some people, or person, who is either unaware of this rule or purposely disregarding it.  I had the misfortune to stumble unwittingly into the 5th floor bathroom only to realize it had been horribly, frighteningly, and passionately compromised.

Exhibit A as in assholes shouldn't do this. 

Exhibit B. as in brown smudges don't belong in women's bathrooms.

Exhibit C. Call the authorities.
Exhibit D. Don't.  Just.  Don't.

I also feel it imperative that I mention these were not all taken on the same day.  This is a repeat offender we're dealing with and it needs to stop.  And the quality of the photo's really doesn't do justice to the revulsion and horror suffered.  I got as close as I dared and was already at risk of having the crabs that were inevitably hanging out on the seats jump up and latch onto my eyebrows.  But I felt my personal peril was worth it in order to have this documented.

And so.  I would like to institute a set of regulations that I insist the women of the 5th floor not only abide by, but embrace with the very fiber of their beings. 

Rule #1.  Go to the 4th floor for all poo related needs.

Rule #2.  Even if you use the restroom simply to fix your hair, wash your mother hugging hands.  With SOAP AND HOT WATER.

Rule #3.  If, for some unfathomable reason, you ignore rule #1 and insist on sharing your anal blight with the rest of us, do NOT, for the love, spray that horrific vanilla frosting scented air freshener.  There are few things in my daily life as offensive as walking into the restroom only to get a face full of air that reeks of shit flavored cup cakes. 

Rule #4.  Again, if you decide to ignore rule #1, please don't use the toilet seat as your personal toilet paper and butt scraper.  Plan ahead.  Take a shoe horn in there if necessary and scrape away to your hearts content.  Just don't leave it on the seat for the next person.

Rule #5.  Whether in the 4th floor or the 5th, if you decide to completely annihilate and ruin the stall while using your colon to spray paint the bowl and tiles, then please.  Please, I beg of you.  Clean it up.  This is the sort of thing that leaves me dazed and cowering in the safety of my cubicle for the rest of the day.  A simple, totally reasonable request.  Just clean it up. 

Welp.  Still feeling a smidge demented but perhaps a little less twisty.  Perhaps I'll leave the house today after all.