Diarrhea: An Opportunity for Multitasking!

I’m sorry. I still haven’t mailed out any awesomeness.

Here’s why:

I’m still getting used to having weekends. That sounds counterintuitive, I know, but it’s really messing with my head to suddenly have a real grown-up job with real grown-up weekends after working retail for the past six years. My schedule just feels . . . funky. Honestly, it feels like I’m getting away with something. Like the Weekend Police are going to knock down my door, waltz in and say, “Excuse us, ma’am. Are you taking a weekend? That is simply not allowed.” Like Brazil. Have you guys seen that movie? It’s a trip. Don’t watch it. I mean, do watch it because it’s weird, but you shouldn’t feel good about it.

I’ve been having nightmares about working retail again. I’m not kidding. I wake up in a cold sweat mumbling about candles. It’s exhausting.

In addition to this new fangled weekend thing, I also just started my final semester of coursework before I can (eep!) start my thesis. You can imagine that I’ve had a lot on my mind, and I’ve just been in a generally weird wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey sort of situation. (Tell me in the comments if you know what that’s from! Without clicking the link, smartass!)

This probably seems sort of whiny, but I really am grateful for the gift of weekends. I just don’t know what to do with them yet. I’ve had such an odd schedule for so long that to have the same one as almost everyone else is really messing up my groove.

With that being said, I found a reprieve from all the madness this weekend and it took the form of diarrhea. Really violent, watery, noisy diarrhea. It hit me on Friday (sorry co-workers, but that’s what I was doing when I wasn’t at my desk. I was shitting big scary shit bombs in the bathroom) and continued until, well, Monday. Really, it wasn’t that bad, it wasn’t a constant flow (I’d be in the hospital) but more of a daily surprise. My thoughts were: When will it hit? How long will I be in the bathroom? Should I bring homework with me when I go?

Yes. The answer, as I found out, should always be YES.

Being stuck on the toilet is a wonderful opportunity for multitasking! On Monday, for example, I did the following things while shitting my face off:

  • Painted my toe nails.
  • Brushed up on Irish history.
  • Read a little James Joyce.
  • Planned a barbecue with Jeff (through the closed bathroom door).
  • Caught up on my Craftgawker.
Woman Poo

See this bitch? She’s happy because she decided to multitask while she has the shits.

Photo Source

See what I mean? Diarrhea can be a very productive situation! I will admit, and freely so, that I am a self-proclaimed Toilet Texter. Listen, there are conversations to be had and plans to be made. I will not let a little hot-molten-lava-poo stop me. Now, don’t confuse me with a Toilet Talker – those are the people who talk on their phone when they walk into a public bathroom, or they just don’t get off the phone when they take a shit.

That’s wrong. Don’t do that.

I write a lot about shit, don’t I? Those of you that sent me your addresses are probably starting to wonder if I’m going to send you a stool sample.

In addition to the poo, I have also been PMSing, which is another reason why this post didn’t get put up on Monday. You may have noticed that it’s Thursday night. Yikes.

I’m really sleepy. Period sleepy. Women know what I’m talking about – I’m going to get my period on Saturday (one of the wonders of the pill, I know right when I’ll get my period) and this whole week has been a snooze fest. I sat down to do reading for my Modern Irish Fiction class and I fell asleep at 8PM, drooled all over the article I had been reading, woke up at 1AM and couldn’t go back to sleep until 3AM. That was just Tuesday.

This past Saturday, when my PMS kicked in, Jeff and I took a nap. A four-hour nap. We were making the bed and didn’t even get the pillows on. We drooled on each other – it was nice. (He isn’t PMSing, he’s just a dude who likes naps with his lady.)

Speaking of periods, I want to bring up a new saying I think us gals should try to make happen: I’m draining the lasagna.

Stay with me.

You know how people still say shit like, “Aunt Flo’s in town” or “I’m on the rag”? I hate that shit. Fuck Aunt Flo, and I don’t use “rags” anymore – I alternate between light tampons or the Softcup depending on my mood.

The way “I’m draining the lasagna” came about was this: on Saturday night, my lady friends and I were cleaning up after dinner. One of them had made a paleo lasagna that was delicious, and also very juicy (in a good way). Before she packed up the lasagna to take it home, she drained the juice into the sink. The other lady friend said, “Are you draining your lasagna?” One thing lead to another and I suggested that it sounded like a way to refer to one’s period.

Hense – I’m draining the lasagna.

Now I could go into details about why this is funny, but it would defeat the purpose. Anyone who has ever really looked up close at a vulva knows what I’m talking about. It isn’t that much unlike a lasagna.

Or you can always just say you’re on your period. That works too.

You’re draining the lasagna – what book do you read?

My Ántonia by Willa Cather. I always feel really cooped up when I’m on my period (especially when I have period diarrhea, which is another beast entirely) and I like to read Cather because she depicts these huge open spaces, and dammit if that woman doesn’t write nature in a way that you can see every single blade of grass. She makes me feel peaceful as fuck.

How’s your period? Do you have diarrhea? Tell me about it in the comments! Take a picture! Let’s make this exciting!


  1. Back in the Navy, one one of our more dull deployments we pulled into this rather dull port in India. It was called Chennai. While we were there, we did our best to not touch anything, as it was one of the filthiest places I’ve ever been. The ship was anchored, so we had to take these little ferry-boats to the shore. While we were in the city, a storm came up and we ended up being stranded on the pier. 500 or so hungover, hungry, angry sailors had to sleep on the pier, with the rats and the filth. Needless to say, we brought all sorts of great diseases back to the ship with us.

    There was a shipwide (including myself) bacterial infection that gave half the crew (half of 6000 people) gastroenteritis. GS (as I shall now refer to it) can best be defined as: “The sudden, immediate evacuation of all matter within the gastrointestinal tract by the nearest orifice available.”

    I coined that definition. There was no warning. One minute you’re lying in your rack, the next minute you’re screaming/running/leaking to the toilet. Whatever muscle control you think you had was completely gone. It. Was. Terrible. Weirdly, it only lasts about 48 to 72 hours. But people die from it in 3rd world countries because of the near-immediate dehydration and the inability to consume any food.

    Man, if someone had attacked us then, -that would have been one messy fight…

  2. I’m going to have to ask you to stop blogging or I may die from laughter. I seriously can’t handle much more. Every time you write a post about shit (which, as anyone who reads your blog knows, is often), I get excited. And then I laugh like a fool at my computer and read things out loud to my husband who just doesn’t get it like I do.

    Also: never heard of the Softcup, so thanks for that lovely revelation. I’m intrigued, yet frightened of it like I was frightened of tampons when I was 12. I feel pubescent all over again.

    1. Thank you so much for the wonderful compliment! It makes me so happy to hear that I am making someone laugh!

      Softcup is weird, but very cool. Go to their website to get free samples, and make sure when you try it that you:

      Don’t cough
      Wear panty-liners
      Wear your least favorite pair of underwear

  3. I’m PMS-ing too, and my boobs are enormous and fantastic. Co-incidentally, I took a poo-break while writing this comment, though I didn’t take my laptop in as it’s a monster 17 inch screen and I tend to go rather quickly and perfunctorily. (Not shitting, (ha!) my usual time is in and out in under 50 seconds. Is that wrong or weird? I have a feeling it’s weird.)

  4. I had to stop reading to leave a reply to your ‘timey-wimey’ comment.

    I ❤ you so hard right now.

    I have a TARDIS tattoo on my arm. So I know what it is from 🙂

    Time to resume reading…

  5. I’ll have you know, that this was my bedtime story last night. I really don’t think that I could have chosen a better bedtime story…

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