Ok, I was asked, so here is my gross story. (or 2)

*Warning in advance- if you are eating or nauseous, come back later. If not, read at your own risk.*

So after reading The Sarcasm Goddess's gross story and commenting I had a doozy too, she asked me to share it to the interwebs. So here goes.

Das Bear and I had been married all of a year and a half, and had moved 3 times already.  I still considered us Newlyweds, because we hadn't broke the fart barrier yet. (you know, when you finally comfortable passing gas in front of a loved one...) We had moved from a tiny (3 total rooms) apartment to a GIANT apartment to a smallish apartment in the basement of a local complex.  The layout was such that the door was on one end of the rectangular living room and the hallway on the other end. At the end of the hallway on the left was the bathroom. This was the setting for the breaking of the Newlywed status. However, as I normally don't just break barriers (I obliterate them...) I unintentionally scarred my husband for life.

I had been in quite a bit of pain. I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome and tend to run toward stopping up as opposed to the other option. My belly was distended so much I looked pregnant.  It was all I could to just crawl from the living room couch to the bathroom and give it "the ol' college try." For days I had not been able to poo.  We couldn't afford for me to go to the doctor so I began experimenting with options.  I drank this horrible concoction from Walgreens that's supposed to make you- let's say Unconstipated.  No dice.  I laid on my stomach to see if that would get things moving. Nope.  Apple Juice, Cranberry Juice, even exlax. Not happening.

By day 7 I was miserable. Das Bear finally decided that if I didn't have some relief by the time he got home from work I was going to the ER.  Now, you don't know it, but the ER is my LEAST favorite place to be. I'd rather wait miserably at my own house as opposed to waiting miserably in a crowded waiting room. It was my "come to Jesus" moment. No, I didn't pray, I got creative.

I got out the Vaseline, and couldn't locate the rubber gloves. (You all know what's coming next...) I sat on the toilet and got to work. I spent 2 or 3 hours trying to clear my impaction. Finally it happened. A moment after I got the impaction out (the hard way) the bathroom door opened. I hadn't heard him come home, but there was Das Bear with possibly the most grossed out look on his face I have EVER seen. He backed up, closed the door and silently walked away.

Only later did he tell me what he saw.  He opened the door to his beautiful bride sitting on the toilet crying, and smiling. What grossed him out was the fact I was also holding (in my bare hand) a softball size ball of poo. (I may have also been sighing happily as my bowels emptied.) There was crap streaked up both arms from fingertip to elbow. (How did it get up to my elbows?) And I may have been laughing maniacally. Now mind you, when I finished on the toilet I got right in the shower, but he didn't hug me for almost a week, and he's never looked at me the same again.

That's when I knew he loved me, because he eventually let me touch him again, and the whole incident has become a funny story we tell our friends (and apparently now the internet.)

On a side note, a few weeks later he had a hilarious run in with my mother. He tends to be naked whenever we are alone at home and she tends to walk in and make herself at home. He came out of the bedroom into the hallway as she headed down the hall to the bathroom. Now imagine the most awkward and embarrassing collision EVER. And add him getting racked in the bare jewels by her knee. Yep. That happened.

So I guess I just told my first poo story here, and have obliterated the wall of good taste. We'll see where this goes.

To breaking barriers and unimpacting poo.

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Watch out world! I'm learning perspective!

Yeah, so today I feel like crap. Not like when I felt like crap for almost 2 months, but definitely like when I felt like crap last summer. The sun hates me. (Or conversely my body hates the sun.)

Not long ago, (up until about my high school graduation) I was an avid sun worshipper. (I am now too, but it an entirely different way and connotation.) I could swim in the glaring sun all day long, and wish for more daylight so the pool wouldn't close. I lived with a perpetual suntan and absolutely dreaded the Labor Day weekend.  I still love to swim, and I would happily spend my days sunning if it wasn't for one big issue. It seems as if my body turned 20 and decided it no longer knew how to tan, or could handle the blasting heat of summer.  No, instead, it has decided to be faithful only to the A/C and shade. I look like a freaking Goth, for goodness sake!

Being that I tend to listen to what my mind and heart want, and not what my body asks for, I consistently torture it.  I go to the splash park in 106 degree heat and dare it to fail me. I come home and spend the better part of the rest of the day in the bathroom or lying flat out in front of the A/C on the couch.  Can I get a trade in for a younger, more cooperative body? This one doesn't work anymore!

I don't know...maybe I just need to look at this from another angle. I love Abby (Paulie Perette) from NCIS and she is as Goth as they come. Can you be Goth without wearing pancake makeup and looking depressed all the time?  Maybe I'll be a an Emohemian---dark hair, light skin, hippie clothes.  Ah, what does it matter any way? I'm willing to take the pain after the fun, if it means I can pretend to be normal for the day. (Wait. Normal? That's probably not the word that best describes me...)

Later this week I get to have my niece and nephew for the whole week, so I best figure out a way to enjoy the sun and be able to function after. (Maybe a portable toilet in the car?)  On a related note, kids grow much faster when you don't see them for 8 or 9 months.

Ok, that's enough rambling for today...my addled brain has run off without me, so I must chase it back to the couch.

To Sun sickness and summer pools.

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Then and Now: A humorous retrospective.

Today we are taking a trip back 20 years to when I was 9, and seeing some of my favorite childhood things in a new light. So, back to 1991----

We'll start with TV. I didn't have cable, so my TV spectrum was limited to Saturday Morning Cartoons, PBS, and daytime talk shows.  Only recently have I been able to get to enjoy the Nickelodeon gems that were in their heyday in the 90s.  I have come to one conclusion. Everything I thought was hilarious or cute on TV back then is now unbearably creepy. I mean come on, Pee Wee's Playhouse featured the equivalent of a pedophile on an acid trip, and Mr. Rogers certainly wasn't sketchy at all (can you feel the sarcasm?). What kind of grown man changes his clothes four times in a half hour, and then plays "make-believe" with his puppets? I think he and Miss Aberly had something going on. (A little bit of "hide the Trolley?")

Of course daytime talk shows were no better. What with Jerry Springer and Maury Povich, my summer was spent vacillating between watching incestuous twins fight, and hearing if PoShaLaQueNisha was telling the truth that JaQuonLaDonte was the father. (Usually not.)

Because of the lack of quality boob tubery, I was (luckily) forced to actually find other things to do. You know, like dry humping my barbies on my brother's GI Joes. I loved my Care Bears (though I secretly favorited Sunshine Bear and the one with Rainbow on it's tummy) and I positively coveted my own little stash of My Little Ponys. When I got the scratch and sniff fruity pony I actually hid it in my closet so no one could get it but me. ( I know, what a selfish little imp!) There was one type of toy I wanted desperately and was not allowed to get (Mom said they were disgustingly ugly, I was like DUH!) called the Troll Doll. I wanted one in every color and especially the ones with the jewels for belly buttons! (Kinda glad I didn't get them, because I would rather not be compared to Mimi from Drew Carey.) One toy scared me so senseless that I will not touch one to this day. It probably had something to do with me watching Chuckie at a friends house right around the same time I got it. Teddy Ruxpin. What a creepy toy! Something about a toy talking to you just makes me shiver. My brother was always telling me it would kill me if I left it facing me while I slept. It lived in the closet right across from the fruity pony, but for obviously different reasons.

I never really did get into 90s music, but I was also immersed (forcefully) into hearing Garth, or George, or Johnny, or Waylon's voices bombarding me at full volume every morning on the way to school. Everyone else was into NSYNC and BSB, and Britney. The more they loved them, the more I hated the artist. I've just never been a bubblegum pop kinda girl.  Reba and Martina's lyrics were the ones I belted at the top of my lungs.  (Badly.)

I guess now that I'm looking back I realize that the things I found intriguing back then were good back then. (Now I can't sit through a whole 90s show without needing a break to wash the schmaltz off.

So be it I guess. Nostalia is a fickle and fie lover.

To looking back, and Ebaying the crap outta your old toys.

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady

Popularity has its downsides, and popularity is one of them.

Please forgive me. I am a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad girl. I have been neglecting my dear web-child, and I have been receiving gentle prods, urgent emails, and not so gentle veiled threats regarding my lack of blog posting recently. No excuses, just a plea for you to forgive me and a new blog post for all of my loving and loyal fans. I apologize for my absence and I will try to do better. :)

Now on to today's topic, popularity. When I was younger, if I had decided to throw a party, I would have had to offer free money to get people there. Nowadays it seems as if the tide has changed. I am now able to find someone to hang out with at a moment's notice, or throw together a barbeque on a whim and have at least 10 people show up.

Facebook has been a huge help as far as the throwing parties thing goes. Recently I decided to put an event together at my house, and I (perhaps unwisely) made the event open to anyone (i.e. friends of friends' friends...) because I thought that way we might have more than the 30 people I invited. Well kiss my lips and call me Porky, when I checked my Facebook event page moments ago I found a whopping 73 may be attendings. I have a decent backyard, but that plus the 30 I originally invited would give me a final total of 100 (!!!!) people. Holy Freaking Cow. I may have made a mistake when I put "Bring the whole family" on the event poster. Oh, well, at least we'll have music, food, and people dancing, talking and laughing together. That's what it's all about. 

I must have forgotten to mention what exactly would be happening at this party. Apparently, all you need to attract a load of people is tie dye and food. Yep, that's right, in two weeks we will be hosting the First Annual Hippie BBQ at our modest little abode. I'm kinda excited at the thought of it being a success and having to do next year's at the city park because of the amount of people...lol

I wanted a bouncy house, but I guess that will have to wait for next year- Das Bear says my budget limit is -and I quote- "frugal." That means it's do-it-yourself this year, and I've already recruited a couple friends to make the backyard party friendly. 

Tomorrow I'm off to Hesston to spend the weekend celebrating the sun, and then I plan on coming back and party planning full force. Did I mention someone is bringing a WATER BUFFALO roast? That'll check off another on my strange things I've eaten list. I really can't wait. I'll post pics if it turns out well. I'll post video if it turns out crazy. I'll be in handcuffs if it turns out insane. lol

Alrighty then, ladies and gents, it's off to bed for the Kat Lady.

To Hippie Dreams and Square Nightmares,

Love and Laughter,
-Kat Lady