Friday, December 08, 2006

No Longer Desecrating Office And Home Bathrooms

In case some of you were unimpressed by my crappy Tuesday, I can actually add an update to it that until now, I couldn't write about because it was too painful, and really, it's hard to write from a bathroom stall.

Just when the universe had decided to be kind to me again by sending me a guardian angel named Albertson's pharmacist dude, I made a frozen pizza for dinner, unable to cope with cooking real food.

I always buy the same kind of pizza. Every. Single. Time.

This is because in the past, I've experimented with the cheap frozen pizzas. And most of them tasted like cardboard or crap with cheese on top. Except for one that actually tasted vaguely of pizza. That brand is Red Barron's.

We always get the basic pepperoni pizza. I couldn't even tell you what the style is actually called.

But this weekend, I thought "oh look, for only a dollar more, I can get something called pizzeria style Red Barron's pizza." And so I figured, what the hell, I'm working now, let me live on the wild side and blow a dollar like it grows on trees just because I can. This is the mentality that led Donald Trump to cover his entire apartment in 24 karat gold. I'm only one step removed from him really.

Anyway, so Tuesday I crank up the old Pizzazz (the greatest invention ever by the way, I know it doesn't look that way from the commercials, but really, if you use an oven to cook your frozen pizza, well, I don't know if I can even associate with you.) and tear the packaging off the pizzeria style frozen pizza. Some say that I'm the next Martha Stewart because of these talents of mine. It's along the lines of my using my creativity in my sleep-deprived state when Little Man was two weeks old and trying to use surgical tape to stick his pacifier in his mouth so that he'd stop waking up every five minutes. This failed miserably, since medical tape only sticks mildly to skin and nothing else. So not only did the pacifier fall out of Little Man's mouth, but the remaining tape on his face made my newborn look like a mini Hannibal Lechter which freaked the shit out of me.

But back to the pizza. So we eat dinner. I'm starving because of my horrible day and the fact that lunch consisted of two store-brand oreo cookies (I guess the extra dollar spent on the pizza guilted me into buying the fake cookies), so I inhaled half a pizza.

When we go to bed, I begin to feel nauseous. I begin to think that if I don't get up right now, I might throw up all over our organic cotton sheets.

The moment passes.

The next morning I wake up and within ten minutes I throw up an insane amount of pizza. Twice.

The second time I'm throwing up, I can feel a serious diarrhea attack coming on and ponder for a second which end I'd rather clean up in case I can't finish one before the other.

I know, too graphic.

I go to work anyway, because one, I'm not willing to relive another day like Tuesday. And two, I literally had five meetings scheduled for Wednesday and if there was one day I couldn't miss all week, it was that day.

So I go to work. And during each meeting, I pray that I can keep my intestines in check long enough to cause the end of my career with the company.

And in between meetings, I sprint to the bathroom, and I the shy pooper no longer worry about humilitaing myself, because I sound like I have a very full bladder, that's how upset my intestines are.

I begin popping pepto-bismol cherry-flavored tablets when I get home like Satan's Dog when he manages to open the pantry where his treats are.

I spend most of the night being woken up by my digestive system which at this point sounds like I've swallowed a whole tiger cub.

And now, two days later, I can safely say that I have avoided going to the bathroom all morning. My system has successfully conquered the e-coli.

And the cleaning lady at the office is probably weeping with joy that her toilets will once again maintain their pearly white smiles.

On a completely different note, Little Man said the funniest thing ever. As all toddlers, he tends to categorize things that are similar in little ways. For example, when he learned the word "dog," all animals that had four legs, furry men and fuzzy plants would be called "dog."

Now, he's on a "Daddy" kick. And all men that remotely ressemble his father because of hair color, a coat they might be wearing, whatever are pointed out to me as "Daddy." This is handy, because should Sweetie Pie get tired of my idiocy and leave me, Little Man is already trying very hard to find me someone new.

This morning, we were driving to his school and my job when at a red light, I see Little Man in the rearview mirror point out the window and exclaim "Daddy!" I look to the right and in the car next to me is an extremely large black man.

That's when I tried to teach a new word, "mister," to Little Man in between my giggle fits.




susan said...

If we are to believe Men in Trees - that large black man could very well be LIttle Man's daddy. ;)
I'm glad you are feeling better! I can't believe you had the balls (or whatever body part necessary) to go to work! I'm glad you survived the day. :)
I too have had everything coming out of both ends. I keep my booty on the toilet and ralph in the tub. I guess you guys won't be bathing at my house anytime soon. ;)

susan said...

btw, stuff coming out of both ends was not recent (knock on wood, knock on wood, knock on wood, please dear baby jesus don't jinx me).

random_mommy said...

i'm almost glad i moved... you guys sound gross with all of your 'stuff' coming out both 'ends.' EEWWWW.

i love hearing your poop stories. they make me smile, because apparently, i'm very gross.

little man, you have interesting taste in future daddies. i am happy you like the bling. go boy.

Catwoman said...

Sometimes I feel like an 8-year old boy writing all my poop stories, but poop makes me laugh. I once pooped a turd that was perfectly shaped like a penis and testicles. I can't remember if I blogged about this before...

Anyway, I was so amazed, I try to get Sweetie Pie to come see it, because I thought it was so hilarious! He didn't and I'm pretty sure his Baptist ass almost left me that night. He said something along the lines that I was never to do that again.

Little Man has no rythm. I know his Daddy white! ;-)

Emma in Canada said...

I recall a post about penis shaped poo and I'm quite sure it was you,I don't think there are many who talk about their bodily functions with such candor.

I don't know how you managed at work, I've only gone in a public toilet once, it was either that or have it run down my leg, because it was that sort.

sognatrice said...

So glad you're feeling better, and the story of "Daddy" is too funny--thank goodness for blogs and the ability to record these things for posterity ;)

PS Came via A Spot of T.

PPS the word verification, oddly enough, also sums up my reaction to this post: gahtyyni....

lisa's chaos said...

Oh I never could have done that. I've went to work with bad tummy troubles before but I could never talk about it later. :)

Seems you are popping up all over my life. For one I got the neatest little package from Texas. :) And for two Joy is showing you some linky love. :) She seemed to think you might need the Poopsie Award and from what I read she's right. :)