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