You'll never see it coming

The thing about shitting yourself for the first time is that you never see it coming. Especially if happens to you when you're young. There you are, striding through life thinking you're invincible and nothing can stop you and the world is playing into your hand, and suddenly your bowels come in to remind that you're only human. It's humbling, really -- you'll see the first time it happens to you.

My first time would have made an excellent comedic scene in a romantic comedy, were it acceptable for a romantic comedy to contain graphic shots of flying shit. Allow me to explain -- I had just gotten off work when I identified that I needed to go. I was actually feeding a friend's cat at the time, and she lived about 15 minutes from where I was working, so I figured the easiest thing to do was go when I got there. After being in my car for a few minutes on the interstate, I realized that the situation was a little more dire than I had originally realized. I pulled off and tried to find a gas station, a McDonald's, anything that had a public bathroom, but for some reason I was not having any luck.

Getting back on the interstate, I was actually deep breathing and talking out loud to myself, because at this point I was in some physical pain as well as trying to deal with the inevitable. "Okay", I said to myself, " it is going to be fine. You are going to make it there. You will make it." A few more minutes passed and I realized that I was most definitely not going to make it. Something bad was going to happen. Taking a deep breath, I said "Okay, this is going to happen. You just have to let it happen, everything is going to be ok." And as I said it, I wondered: would it be like a log, lying in the crack of my butt uncomfortably? Or would it be, even worse, a steaming hot mess? Was this really happening to me?

Well, it did happen. About 5 minutes away from my friend's house, I totally shit my pants.

Arriving at my destination, my first concern was running up to the door with a giant brown stain on my shorts, which just so happened to be khaki (wrong day to choose not to wear black). I finally decided there was no one around and bolted for it, desperate to get the horrible warm, sticky feeling wiped away and cleaned up. I opened the door and immediately was confronted by two hungry cats who were very happy to see me -- after all, my arrival meant they would get to eat. The thing is, though, they had to wait. Just a second.

So I get to the bathroom, and I yank down the shorts and it is bad -- much, much worse than I possibly could have imagined. I start pulling the shorts off, and as I do, the cats come into the bathroom, meowing at me to come feed them. Distracted, I try to wave them away, and as I do, the shorts fly off the one leg, fly up in the air, and shit spatters all over the bathroom, splashing on the two cats, the bathroom rug and god knows where else.

Believe it or not, I cleaned all this. I cleaned the shit off the cats, off the bathroom walls, off the rug, and somehow eventually off myself. Running around the house bottomless, I packed up my destroyed shorts and underwear and put them in a garbage bag. At this point, I realized I had yet another problem. My friend was a size 4 or so, and while she had plenty of clothing, I was more like a size 8. I wouldn't be able to fit in any of her underwear, pants, shorts or anything like that. I was stranded in her house with no pants, a bag of shit-soaked garments and no options.

Desperate, I dug through her closet until I found a drawstring skirt that I was able to loosen enough to get over my hips. I ran into the kitchen and fed the cats, who looked slightly terror-stricken and not at all hungry anymore (not that I can blame them). And I took a deep breath and realized that the crisis had actually been averted --despite the shame of the entire experience, somehow I had emerged still sane and escaped being discovered in the act by anyone.

To celebrate, I called one of my best friends and announced " You'll never believe what just happened. See, I was driving to feed my friend's cats after work...."

Those Magical Moments

From: Anonymous
Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2007 at 11:15 AM
Subject: those magical moments
To: lots of people

as many of you know, my roommates and i spent the weekend inside ill. during this time, we learned that mixing certain cold meds produced a rather atrocious gas problem. however, we also learned that over-medicating ourselves made this gas problem much more manageable.

well, by the close of monday night we were all starting to feel better, and were definitely experiencing cabin fever. so, i was determined to do something with my evening last night. i woke up, had some sudafed and dayquil and ventured to work. i had my usual morning coffee and doughnut, and went about my day in the typical manner. perhaps it was the combination of over-medication and determination to enjoy the evening that led me to answer a phone call i'd been avoiding for weeks now. you see, the ex-boyfriend's best friend had been trying, unsuccessfully, to have a few drinks. for all the obvious reasons, i'd been resistant to this idea. well, she caught me off guard and plans were made. drinks at the bar across the street at 8.

in the meantime, i'd made plans to meet a friend for coffee at 4. (for those of you keeping track, that's: 3 coffees, two tablespoons of dayquil, two sudafed ams, 1 chocolate bar). after coffee, i ran a few errands and arrived at home in time to prepare inna for her date. by the time inna got out the door, i had about ten minutes before i had to meet the ex's friend. so i threw on my big coat (it was raining pretty heavily) and walked over.

over a glass of wine, we did the chit chat thing. and once that had exhausted itself, the inevitable conversation found it's way to the bar. sparing you the details, the bulk was talk of reconciliation. much to most peoples' chagrin, this was not something i was adverse to. the conversation began to get somewhat deep and heavy, and was interrupted when nature called.

for those of you who haven't been to the bar across the street, it has two unisex bathrooms; one on either side of the bar. the one to the left is at the end of a short hallway, which contains a side door that exits onto the street, and is directly across the street from our front door. the bathroom to the right has no hallway or exit door. more often than not, i use the bathroom to the right, because the bathroom to the left is somewhat bigger and we all know my fear of large bathrooms. i did not deviate from this habit last night. unbeknownst to me, this decision would become the greatest mistake of my life.

(for those of you keeping track: 3 coffees, two tablespoons of dayquil, two sudafed ams, 1 chocolate bar, 1.5 glasses of wine)

i faced the toilet, unzipped and started to pee. and then... then...

i was greeted by the worst surprise ever.

i shat my pants.

i shat my pants!

ohmygodohmygodohmygod. i shat my pants.

i was overcome by a shitstorm, if you will, of panic. sparing you the grim details, i will say i was able to restrain the majority of nature's little accident. so i did the quickest 180 ever, and deposited the remainder in the proper receptacle. and then... then i didn't know what to do. i was trapped. i was trapped with only me and my shame. had i chosen the bathroom to the left i would have been met by a door to clean underwear and moist towels. but i chose wrong. horribly, horribly wrong.

now it has been told that some in this same situation have celebrated by throwing their feces onto the walls and clogging up sinks and showers. having been raised with dignity and etiquette classes, i had to deal with the situation with grace. i assessed the damage, and decided that my newest, cutest pair of american apparel underwear were not disposable. i knew i had to make haste, to avoid being gone for too long and creating suspicion. i called inna, who did not answer. i'm not really sure what i thought she could do to help resolve this situation, but like i said i was somewhat panic stricken. so i did what any mature, responsible adult who shits themself would do. i wiped ferociously and then poured heavy doses of soap into my pants and returned to the bar to finish our wine and conversation.

the next five minutes have become the most uncomfortable five minutes of my life. there is no feeling even remotely comparable to that of talking to your ex-boyfriend's best friend about the reconciliation you plan to make, while the toxic sludge one can only call "shoap" roots around in your ass. but i am proud to say i was a pooper trooper, and finished my drink without even a hint at the atrocities quietly happening to me. after our drink, i slid off the barstool and slid on my long jacket (thank god for rain), said goodbye and non-chalantly walked home.

upon entering my house i did what everyone does when they shit themselves. i called colette to brag. and then jen.

inna returned from her date, with her date, to find me standing in the living room in only my underwear, laughing hysterically into the phone. i immediately hung up and regaled both of them of the night's events. and then i apologized for being rude and introduced myself to her date.