Friday, December 31, 2010

December 31

I've become a sort of habitual TV shopping channel viewer. It's a habit, I'm shamed to admit, that I used to give my mother three flavors of shit for (God rest her soul). I actually made fun of her because she knew all the names of the hosts/hostesses on the channel. Now I know them so it's official...I have become my mother.

So there I am, fat, dumb, and happy, sitting on the couch eating a box of Ding Dongs and drinking Diet Pepsi (less calories you know) and there before my eyes in stunning HD is a supremely fit man, surrounded by other supremely fit men and women, selling a set of exercise DVD's called P90X. I need to loose a few pounds so I think, okay, how hard could it be, right? I fell flat on my face for the sales pitch and bought it.

The day it came, I read the booklet that came with it & watched the first instructional DVD. There was a cautionary note that if you weren't in relatively good shape you probably shouldn't be using this particular program. I think there was a beginner program that was recommended but I really don't remember (because I'm over 50 & menopausal).

I should've heeded the warning. Suffice to say I thought I was going to die. The workout wasn't the piddly little 20 minutes that I expected. It was closer to an hour. I'm huffin' and puffin' in front of the TV with droplets of sweat burning my eyes looking at people who don't have an ounce of body fat cheering each other on. Not once did I hear any of 'em sayin' good job Stoopid, you can do it, keep going, hurray for you.

While I realize it's probably much better for sales to produce DVD's showing supremely fit bodies, it isn't very realistic. They could've had at lease one or two tubbies. (In retrospect they were probably worried about the legalities of having tubbies trying to do this workout and dying of a heart attack while being filmed.)

I know it sounds crazy, but as a tubbie, I couldn't keep up with the perfectly sculpted creatures staring at me from the TV. I tried. I huffed and puffed, moaned and groaned, and kept trying until finally, Praise the Lord, we were at the end of the workout. Holy shit, my arms were so weak they were shaking. Thank God I had a glass of water sitting on the counter because I don't think I could've lifted a glass out of the cupboard. You know the old saying "things could be worse"...well they were! Two days later was the worst day, every time I moved my arms I wanted to cry. Instead I swore profusely. It got a little easier each day and after about a week, I could raise my arms without shedding tears.

I'm sure I'm not the only chub who fell for the sales pitch. There's probably quite a few equally pea brained fellow tubbers who saw and bought. Doesn't make me feel any less of a schmuck's the stoopidist thing.

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Dec 26th

The day after Christmas is always such a let down. No presents under the tree. How come when you first put the tree up and decorate it you don't think it looks bare without presents but once there are presents under it and then they're gone it looks bare?

Now it's just a pretty tree with decorations, lights, no presents, and three dog beds around it with three, count 'em, three sleeping dogs (whose beds are covered with festive Xmas blankets) one of whom is farting and smelling up the whole living room. I've sprayed room freshener three times so far this morning and have done several searches for doggie presents. I think the pup is the culprit but she's too cute to banish outdoors for excess gas expulsion.

I'm deliberating when to un-decorate. Should I do it before the New Year festivities or after? Said festivities for me and my elderly husband consist of eating ice cream on the couch while watching an East Coast feed of the Times Square big ball drop. I LOVE the East Coast satellite feed. Once that's over it's hit the rack by 9:15 pm. Yeah, we're pretty wild.

It's not like I even have to do un-decorating duties myself. I have a fabulously wonderful woman who comes in once a week and cleans for me (best $10 an hour I've ever spent in my entire life...why I didn't do it sooner, I'll never know). She loves to do stuff like that. Really. I'll let her decide whether to do it this week or next. No reason for me to be unnecessarily decisive.

I really love Christmas. I wish it was two weeks before Christmas all year (okay, except for the rain, and snow, and generally crappy weather). People seem kinder and more willing to help others during the Christmas Season (please note I said Christmas Season and not Holiday political correctness here!). I went to my physical therapist (because I'm old and falling apart) and there was a tree there with names on it for senior citizens who needed stuff. One wanted a new bathrobe, another wanted a sweater. I'd never seen a gift tree for oldsters before. What a wonderful idea. Why didn't I think of that? Oh I know, 'cause then I'd have to think about someone besides's the stoopidist thing.

Friday, September 24, 2010


I am a confirmed picker.

I found a little bump under the skin on my face that nobody but me would notice and within seconds turned it into a giant walnut sized lump that automatically draws the attention of anyone who speaks to me.

Even though I know it's the wrong thing to do, I can't help myself. I pick and pick until I draw blood and cause massive swelling. WTF is wrong with me???

Now I have to try to cover it up and there is no concealer made that can make a lump disappear. You can cover up the redness (that now covers three square inches thanks to all the squeezing I've done) but then it'll just looks like a semi flesh tone lump with a drop of blood in the center (because I can't quit until I've drawn blood). Fortunately, most people are too polite to ask "hey, where'd you get that giant walnut hanging off your face?".

Every time I do this I swear I'm never going to do it again but I do it over and over and's the stoopidist thing.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Fatty Fatty Two By Four...

I have a weight problem. I'm not really sure if it's because for a year after I had back surgery I turned into a lazy slug afraid to do anything or because I turned 50...or a combination of both.

Now I have fat hanging around my stomach where I never had fat before...well, I mean there may have been a little layer, but nothing like there is now.  All my life I've had chubby thighs and a fat butt, but now it's creeping up into my stomach. Migrating fat, like the eyebrow hairs that migrated to my chin. Only this fat is defying gravity because it's migrating up. It's like I have miraculous fat.

So now I'm faced with the fact that I either have to 1) eat less or 2) exercise or, God forbid, both. None of this appeals to me. I'm totally annoyed at the thought I can't eat what I want. In my world there is no such thing as a day without ice cream.

I'm sort of in a quandary because I can't decide whether to bite the bullet and really try to do something about the girthage, instead of just talking/complaining about it, or just buy bigger pants.

All blame for the excess tonnage belongs to The Pioneer Woman. I've become hooked on her website and have been cooking/baking recipes from that site. I'd like to kill my friend Dawn for introducing me to that spawn of Satan site. I suppose killing seems a little harsh, but I'd definitely like to sock her in the arm...really hard. Every recipe has butter, sugar, or cream in some form. It's fabulous. I'm addicted. I've made the pound cake three times, the oatmeal crispies three times, malted milk chocolate chip cookies twice, chocolate sheet cake once, strawberry shortcake cake once, carrot cake once...and so on. I try to take the stuff to work so I don't eat it ALL myself but a lot of it gets shoved down the ol' pie hole.

So here I sit with the top button of my jeans undone so I don't cut off circulation to my lower extremities debating whether to have a slice of pound cake for's the stoopidist thing.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

The Fall

Sometimes I fall. A lot of times I "almost" fall. I trip, stumble, walk off the heel of my shoe (which can cause excruciating pain) or walk completely out of my shoes if they've got no strap on the heel. Every time I fall or "almost" fall, I yelp. It's probably not really a yelp but more a cross between a scream and yelp...a weird noise that does nothing but draw attention to my ambulatory foibles. I hate being the center of attention.

I used to be fairly agile and could climb over a fence with relative ease. Now I climb's easier than climbing over most of the time. The older I get, the less agile I am. This became painfully clear to me when I tried to climb through to visit my elderly neighbor, J.

J was standing on her side of the fence and since she's deaf, I had to climb through the cross fence to walk over to talk to her. Four strands of wire, hot, cold, hot, cold. (That's electric fence lingo for those not in the know). My plan of action was to hold the second wire down and shimmy through the two hot wires. J's waiting, I'm trying to hurry. I should've known better (kind of like I should know better than to try to carry twenty bags of groceries at once instead of making two bag always breaks and the nightmare begins).

Did I mention we now have the uber strong fence charger guaranteed to keep elephants contained? I'm exaggerating I know, but it's really strong. It literally makes your heart feel like it stopped when you accidentally touch it. It takes your breath away. After you've let out a blood curdling scream.

So I get my right leg through, all's good. It was when I tried to get my back under the top wire that I got the first hit right along my spine causing the first blood curdling scream and total panic on my part...unwanted electricity has that effect on me. I'm now straddling the fence and my left calf hits the third wire and when I scream and jerk it off I hit the top wire again with my back. It all becomes kind of blurry after this because now I'm on the ground rolling trying to put as much distance as I can from this fence which I am now certain is operated by Satan himself.

My neighbor J is from Holland, the actual land of wooden shoes..not some random town of the same name. She speaks with a very heavy accent and is laughing, which she almost never does. She's actually kind of a Serious Suzy. "I sot zat vas going to happen" she says. Yeah, well, glad I could AMUSE you, I my head. I don't even remember now, what she wanted in the first place. I did walk completely around the perimeter of the fence to get back home. I can't believe I thought I could actually do something like's the stoopidist thing.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Stoopid Thing I Did

I was blow drying my hair this morning, bent over at the waist and I happened to see my bare shoulders. Oh, my God...when did my arms shrivel up like prunes????? It was like looking at my grandma's arms. Until this time I had no idea. I think I was happier not knowing this. It's the stoopidist thing.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Stoopid Thing I Did

I was at work the other day and went to the bathroom. Walking back to my office, my underwear started creeping up my butt. Now I know I'm old and set in my ways, but I really don't know how anyone can stand thongs. Everyone I know who wears them thinks they're great but I just can't get around the fact that you're deliberately giving yourself a wedgie. I'm getting sidetracked. So anyway I turn into our office and try to discreetly remove the wedgie from my butt. For some reason I turned around and there was some guy I'd never seen before walking behind me straight towards our office. Why does this always happen to me??? Why couldn't I have waited until I was safely behind my desk to pick underwear out of my butt??

Thank God he didn't come into our office. I was mortified enough without having to actually speak to him. Sad thing is, I don't remember what he looks like so I can't even avoid seeing him again. I'm sure remembers me though, because how many people do you actually get to follow down the hall while they're doing the duck walk trying to get panties out of their butt? While being completely oblivious to their surroundings? I'm also sure every time he sees me he tells whoever he's with that he saw me picking my butt. That sounds paranoid doesn't it??

I'm so stoopid.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Stoopid Thing I Did

One time when I was working in a dispatch center, I went outside to smoke. It was a nice grassy area, trees, shade, picnic tables. After my smoke I went back to work and sat in our brand new, ergonomically correct, chairs. Then, as I curled my feet underneath to sit cross legged it hit me...the stench unlike any shit.

I had tracked it from our nice grassy area, down the stairs, all over the carpet, and, since I sat with my feet curled up under me, negating the benefits of the ergonomically correct furniture, smeared it all over my pants and new chair.

The boss, who was a germaphobe (is that a real word?) and clean freak, was horrified. I was merely's the stoopidist thing.

Friday, June 4, 2010

Ma Bell Go To Hell

I've been having an annoying problem with my phone for about two years now (it may be longer, but I'm old and can't remember). You pick up the receiver to make a call and the line's dead. There have been variations on this as sometimes it's dead for a couple of seconds and then there's an obnoxiously loud busy signal. None the less, it's dead. Since I live out in BFE, where there's no cell service, I have to drive many, many, miles to make a call (Okay, it's not that many miles, but when you're already pissed off, it seems like it is). Always, by the time the repair person gets out to the house, the phone has started working again.

In the past say,two years, (it may be longer, but I'm old and can't remember) we have purchased at least 3 new cordless phone/answering systems. Why? Because I was told by various phone company persons that my phone could be causing the problem (even though the line is dead at the incoming telephone pole). In fact I was told any of our appliances could be causing the problem. Since we're not independently wealthy, when the problems started, we didn't rush out and by all new appliances, electronic equipment ,TV, computer, etc., nor did we have our house re-wired to make sure everything was good. Since we built the house, and it passed all the building codes, and is about ten years old, we're hoping the wiring is still okay (knock on wood). I'm being facetious but I can feel the agitation level in my body starting to rise just thinking about this.

We have, since the "phone nightmare" began, been fortunate enough to get a new refrigerator, stove, and washer /dryer. The washer and dryer are the front loader kind and I LOVE them...and they're red! Which is really unlike me cause I'm sort of bland. So by now, almost everything is relatively new. Guess what???? We still have the "phone nightmare"!

Yesterday, I came home from work, looking forward to the weekend. I work Monday-Thursday so I have Friday, Saturday, & Sunday it.. Anyway, I'm all fat, dumb, and happy and I go to make a phone call...dum de dum dum...dead line this time with the obnoxiously loud busy signal.

Now, it's been less than a month since the repairman was out (it may be longer, but I'm old and can't remember). I was seriously hoping that this time it was fixed. I also seriously think I'm going to win the Lottery. I should seriously quit thinking.

Anyway, the last time, after waiting all day on a Friday for the repairman, because the phone company, AT&T couldn't be more specific than between 8 am and 8 pm for an appointment time,no repairman arrived. As usual, the phone was working by the appointment date but there was a loud hum on the line so I didn't cancel the appointment and waited to see if it could be fixed. Mind you I called on the previous Sunday but since some of us actually work for a living had to wait until my day off to sit at home for twelve hours.

I finally called the phone company around 2'ish on my still humming phone to see if they could be a little more specific about when the repairman would arrive. The ever polite customer service woman said that my line had been fixed on Monday, the repair ticket had been cancelled, and nobody was coming to my house. My blood is beginning to boil...I've been waiting all day. I asked her if she could hear the hum on the phone? Why yes, she could. She said she would make another appointment for me on Wednesday.That was the soonest they had a four hour block of time so I wouldn't have to waste a whole day of vacation time. I was polite. However, I did express my displeasure at the fact that no one told me my phone was repaired. Which it wasn't... as evidenced by the annoying hum... and I totally wasted my day off waiting for someone who was never going to show up. If the phone was working so fucking good, why didn't they leave a message on the answering machine, I said to myself? I did not swear at her. She was very nice and apologetic...she must have sensed I was about to snap...women are intuitive about that kind of thing.

The following Wednesday I come home at noon, repairman shows up. Does some mysterious phone repair work, and fixes the hum. Hooray. I actually believed it was fixed. These guys, the phone gods, who are all really nice by the way, say things like "yeah, I switched your line; yeah, I rerouted you; yeah, there was trouble on the line" which mean absolutely nothing to mere mortals. I was grateful for his help and thanked him profusely.

AT&T has an "online repair service" to "expedite" repairs. I know this because over a year ago (it may be longer, but I'm old and can't remember), I went through their lengthy un-user friendly "online repair service" to create an online account in order to use this expeditious "online repair service". Anyway, I got the online account created. It's important at this time to note that this account was created before the purchase of a new computer and satellite system service (which is still painfully slow and unreliable, but that's another story).

Fast forward to yesterday.

I go to the AT&T website, select "repair", and am taken to the first part of the "online repair service" where you are instructed to go to the outside pole, to check and see if your phone line is dead there. Now, I know I'm old and have no memory, but I don't remember my parents ever having to do this. And I think, actually I know, I pay more for service than they ever did. Having done this before, I'm able to breeze through this part, since I've already checked this. Next, I'm asked if I have an online account? Click yes. Knowing full well that clicking "no" will mean I have to open a new account. Then I try to log on to my account. Here is where my lack of memory becomes the enemy. I have to admit, sometimes I use this to my advantage. Not this time. I can't remember the log on. But not to worry, there's a helpful little line "forgot user name/password". I click on and it asks me to choose which I can't remember. Since I'm pretty sure I know the password, I click on "forgot user name". It asks me to enter my email address, which I do, so they can send me my user name.

I enter my email address and immediately get an ugly response in bold red lettering that says the email address I entered is not associated with my account. I realize, belatedly, that when I used this before, I had a different computer, satellite service, and email account. I try a couple of times, guessing, at different user names. No luck.

So okay, I have to open a new account. Annoying, but do-able. I start over. Go back to the home page and make the appropriate "repair" selections, get to the part where it asks if I have an account and click the "no" tab so I can create a new account. It asks me to enter my phone number and when I do, I get a response that there is already an account for this number. Now I'm stuck, the website won't let me open a new account. They give another option that said I could email for service. Okay, fine, I click on that I'm at a list of choices and about half way down is "repair". I click on repair, naively thinking I'm going to get an email box allowing me to send my repair request through their email system. Guess where it takes me??? Back to the original "online repair service". I'm embarrassed to admit I actually did this twice since I couldn't believe it was really happening. Talk about Catch 22. I can't log on to the original account, admittedly due to my lack of memory, can't create a new account since apparently it violates some random AT&T rule that you can't have two accounts, and can't change my email address with them because I can't log on. I've become trapped in the fucking Twilight Zone.

I email a friend, Scari, hoping she'll get the message, asking her to call repair for me. I wait for a response, no reply, check again, no reply. Hours pass, I know in my heart it's only a few minutes but it seems like hours. This particular friend spends mucho time doing the Facebook thing so I know she's on the computer a lot. Not when I need her, of course, but any other time she'd be online. So I hop in the car and head down to the store where there's cell service.

Now I'm sitting in the store parking lot, fuming, going through the AT&T repair auto attendant choices, look in my rear view mirror and see Scari leaving the liquor store and getting into her car. She backs out, I'm honking my horn, drives ten feet behind me, I'm still honking, she's oblivious, I start to drive behind her, afraid at any moment I'm going to loose cell service. Finally I get to the end of the auto attendant options which means selecting a repair date 7, count em, 7 days from today because the most specific appointment time AT&T can make is a twelve hour period. I hang up and start following Scari, she's old like me, and totally oblivious to my presence. I finally catch her at her mailbox. She tells me she got my email and called repair, actually spoke to a "real" person. They told her it would be fixed between Friday and Monday. I was shocked she talked to a person. M tells me if you press "0" during the beginning you get a live body and not a recording. I must remember this for future reference. Why isn't that an auto attendant option? Press "0" to talk to a person? It's like the secret In N Out menu. If no one ever told me about that I'd never have known about "animal style" burgers.

So maybe my phone will be repaired this weekend. Probably not. In any case, I'm not cancelling my appointment for next Friday until I know for sure. I can say for sure that AT&T phone service sucks big time. And their online repair service is definitely the stoopidist thing.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Road Rage

I have a little road rage problem. When I sit my fat butt in the driver's seat and put my hands on the steering wheel, I instantly become an impatient, immature, asshole. On a side note here, I think "asshole" is the most politically correct slur to use on any given occasion should you feel the need to be politically correct which even I, at times, am forced to do. You can even preface it with "effing" and it's still gender neutral, racially neutral, politically neutral and since I am certain that every faith in the world has their fair share of assholes as members it is religiously neutral as well. If you preface it with the "eff" word, though, be prepared to be on the receiving end of many a raised eyebrow. Happens to me all the time.

Anyway, for some unknown reason, as soon as I get in the car, I'm in a hurry. When I get in the car my main goal is to get from Point A to Point B in the shortest amount of time. My son would argue this because he says I take the long way everywhere. It's my opinion while that may be true, I'm avoiding stop lights, stop signs, and heavily trafficked areas so even though I may be traveling a longer distance I get there quicker. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it. Not only do I hate being politically correct, I hate waiting.

So here's the way it goes. I start out fat, dumb, and happy, going to the store for ice cream (which I'm convinced is the most wonderful food on the planet), which is on my shopping list, which is sitting on the table where I wrote it, which is what I do every effing time I go grocery shopping. Unknowingly list-less, I get in the car and head out. I always try to get these chores done either in the morning or evening. Why? So I don't have to deal with traffic, lines at the store, or any of the gazillion things that easily annoy me. Since I live in a fairly rural area, there's not a lot of traffic starting out. Occasionally you get behind a cement truck or some other slow moving equipment hauling apparatus but I can usually make pretty snappy time en route to the "main" road. Here I confess yet another of my many, many, many faults...I drive too fast everywhere (except when I'm hauling horses and/or someone else's kids).

Now after five or six miles of blissful rage free travel, I'm at the "main" road and my first of many potential annoyances. A stop sign where I'm forced to make the dreaded "left had turn into oncoming traffic". I know this is truly stoopid but I have, on occasion, planned my daily stops around right hand turns in order to avoid the dreaded "left hand turn into oncoming traffic". I know, I can't help it.

You see, I don't judge distance well. It's another little "problem" of mine. So I know I incur the wrath of many a poor schmuck whose misfortune it is to be stuck behind me at stop signs while waiting a seeming eternity for me to make the dreaded "left hand turn into oncoming traffic". I know this because I can see them in my rear view mirror throwing their hands up off their steering wheel mouthing "Jeez lady, WTF are you waiting for?" Fellow schmucks of the world, I apologize. We are kindred spirits.

"Mouthing" is that thing you do when you're in the car and want to talk to another driver knowing there's not a chance in hell they can hear you but you still feel the need to communicate. I use "mouthing" frequently. Usually to mouth the words "I'm sorry" after making the dreaded "left hand turn into oncoming traffic", misjudging the distance, and forcing the guy in the blue Dodge Ram pickup to slam on his brakes and lay long black skid marks on the road in order to avoid t-boning me. I also try to accompany this "mouthing" with an appropriately sheepish look. Sort of, my bad, I know. It is, after all, the polite thing to do.

Next on my journey is another left hand turn, however this one is from a designated left hand turn lane so I only need to worry about traffic coming one way, hence, this is different from the dreaded turn. As fate would allow, now I'm the schmuck mouthing obscenities, stuck behind a little old lady in a beige Cadillac who is waiting patiently, hands on the wheel at ten and two, for the oncoming car that is CLEARLY two miles down the road. Another kindred spirit of sorts, this blue headed, pin curled, old lady (whom I would resemble without the constant attention of Crazy D, my hairdresser), but it's only in the recalling that I notice this. At the time I'm Impatient Patty because, dammit, I'm driving and I'm in a hurry. And it is all about me.Finally after years of waiting, she goes. About fucking time, lady (I mouth)...I don't think she noticed.

On my way again and clear sailing. One more left hand turn at where I'm delighted to be the only soul on the road and I now have a straight shot of roadway punctuated by a couple of stop lights, which have their place in my love/hate catalog of traffic annoyances, followed by the always welcomed right hand turns.

Say what you will but I love Walmart. They're cheaper than anywhere else and they always have an entertaining, albeit annoying at times, group of customers and employees. I get what I need and go.

Now I'm at a stop light to make a right hand turn. The light is red but I can still turn right as soon as Mr. Crappy Brown Ford P/U gets through the intersection. Oh, nice one Mr. Crappy Brown Ford P/U, no turn signal to let me know that you weren't going through the intersection but planned all along to turn right...I waited for nothing. Now I'm stuck, thanks to you, you moron, waiting for everyone across the intersection to take advantage of their now green left turn only light. In truth, my exact words were, "nice blinker you fucking moron". Which is actually pretty mild...for me.

Onward I travel. The next stop is blissfully uneventful. I get my groceries and head home. Now I'm on a mission. Since I now have ice cream it's full steam ahead, lest the ice cream start to thaw. If you're a true ice cream lover, that is the last thing you put in your cart before checkout. Partial thawing and re-freezing results in those horrible ice crystals. Take heart though, should find yourself stuck with crystallized ice cream, you can still use it to make milkshakes.

All in all, not a bad start to the day. There was one lady in a white Toyota who pulled out in front of me causing me to slam on my brakes, but since I didn't have an open soda at my lips ready to take a swig, there wasn't much drama. But the real reason I didn't get upset is because she had the common courtesy to mouth "I'm sorry" and look sheepish, to which I mouthed "It's okay" and waived.

Now, while I'm aware that my behavior is totally ridiculous, I kind of don't really care because I'm in the privacy of my own vehicle. I don't shout out the windows or make rude hand gestures of the middle finger variety, so for all anyone really knows, I'm just singing along with the radio. I may be turning the air blue inside my car with my verbal assaults on unsuspecting motorists but NOBODY KNOWS BUT ME. Okay, I'm probably offending God, but I bet He understands. It's the stoopidist thing...

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Bathroom Complaints

I work in a large local government building with over a hundred other women. The bathroom for the area I work has five, count 'em, five regular stalls and one large stall equipped for the handicapped. Let me correct myself..I mean physically challenged. Never say handicapped because it'll get you in big trouble with the higher ups. These are the days of political correctness you know. I hate being forced to be politically correct.

This particular bathroom is a "fragrance free" area. Yes, thanks to the delicate sensiblities of one or two the entire department is forced to use facilities that reek of human waste. For them eau de feces is apparently preferable to a spritz of Glade. I will never understand this. As an added bonus the designers of this "environmentally correct" building, in their infinite wisdom, installed low flow toilets. I'm fairly certain that someone with a penis is responsible for this design. Two of the toilets have to be flushed at least ten times to get toilet paper to disappear down the drain. How is that environmentally friendly????? How does that save water??? You learn quickly which stalls are the "good flushers".

So one bright sunny morning I have to pee. Now that I'm old I feel obligated to attempt to be healthy so I'm drinking more water. That's a whole other story though. Anyway I head straight for the handicapped stall (oh shi$..I said it again) because it's roomier and seems more private and my elbows don't hit the wall. It's also a consistantly good flusher. So anyway, I make my way to my favorite stall, walk in, shut the door, and OMG there's SKID MARKS IN THE TOILET.

Now I'm in a quandary. There's other people in here. Do I turn around and leave? If I do that, I know that there's gonna be someone who sees me leave and they're gonna walk directly to the stall I just left and now for the rest of their life, this person's gonna think I'm the leaver of skid marks. Do you see my predicament?

By now my bladder is screaming so I can't wait any longer. I flush the toilet to make sure it's not been plugged by the previous pooper. It flushes fine (it's the good flusher, remember)but the skid marks remain glued to the porcelain. How is that possible? So I place the requisite sanitary shield over the seat, because my mother told me that there are lots of terrible things you can get from sitting on an uncovered toilet seat, and am finally able to pee.

Yet another quandary self created because now I've placed myself in the position of being a double flusher. And everybody knows that nobody double flushes unless they've pooped. I'm starting to get all sweaty and silently pray the skid marks will be gone with this third flushing (I'm counting the original flush by the previous pooper). Either the answer was no or I'm just unlucky. Skid marks are still there. At this point I'm actually kind of amazed by this. I decide to behave like a mature adult. I mean, this isn't high school. So what do I do?? I wait until everyone has left the bathroom before I leave. It seemed like hours but I'm sure it was just a few minutes. Why do I care about this??? What's wrong with me???

I don't think men care about stuff like this. Men, for the most part, don't worry about sweat marks under their arms and I don't think there's many who would let themselves endure significant cramping just to avoid farting. I've actually seen men boldly take reading material into an office bathroom. Never have I seen a woman do this.

Most of the woman I know consider pooping an at home duty and most would rather do anything than poop in public bathrooms. Inevitably, it's going to happen. What do we do? We "sneak a poop". Sad but true. You can always tell the sneak a poopers (I know whereof I speak). Sitting silently. Waiting patiently for the other occupants to either leave them in peace or at least start flushing to cover up the noise they're afraid they're going to make. If you happen to notice a sneak a pooper in the bathroom, make it snappy and leave them in peace. Most women, myself included, are really ridiculous about bodily functions.

Wouldn't it be great to be able to laugh about it? We did when we were kids. I'm obviously never going to outgrow the immaturity of thinking farts are funny. But never in a million years, in a public bathroom, would I laugh out loud, thereby letting the fart emitter know she had been heard. I really want to though.

It's the stoopidist thing.