once a Looza, always a Looza!
like i said before, kids- i'm a nostalgic bitch. so let's continue the periodic visits down memory lane, shall we?
this story in particular has curiously become the most requested among all my poop-delighting friends. i will say that this anecdote is probably best told in person, what with all my animated gesticulating and dramatic bloviating.
anyhoo-
it was the summer of 1995 in Boston. me and three other girls in a craptastic two bedroom apartment walk-up.
with no air-conditioning.
between the sweaty, uncomfortable heat and the over-crowding and the general histrionic bullshit that 19-20 year old girls will succumb to, it was a challenging time to say the least. i was working part-time at a music superstore chain in Harvard Square. i don't really remember much about what i did there...usually just clockwatching and reigning over the label maker in the back office. i was a total label terrorist. i would make asinine labels and stick them on everything. suddenly "boobies" and "queeF latifah" and "ANAL*SCANTRON" stickers mysteriously started appearing all over the store (is it any wonder i'd start a poop blog?). it was like my own twist on the "andre the giant has a posse" phenomena, only much, much gayer.
anyhoo-
the heat was especially oppressive one night. i could barely sleep. and when i wasn't sleeping, i was crying because i was too hot to sleep. even our retarded, hallucinatory-prone cat kept jumping into the toilet to get wet, then would stand in front of the fan to cool down. that cat may have liked charging head-first into walls for no reason, but after i saw her do that, her ass was Einstein as far as i was concerned.
anyhoo-
holy shit it was hot! i didn't have to get to work until that afternoon, but i thought "fuckthatshit," and decided to go early and take advantage of the arctic, corporate air-conditioned heaven. so what if they were playing Blues Traveler and Natalie Merchant and Hootie on repeat? granted- on a typical day at the store, especially by the end of the work day, i'd threaten to stab myself in the head with the label maker if they didn't stop playing that shit. but on this one day i could tune anything out...all i could think about was getting to a dry, cool place to sit my fat ass down in.
anyhoo-
i started getting ready for work nice and early that morning. i opened up the fridge and noticed one of my roommates had bought a bottle of Looza apricot nectar. i was parched and sweaty and because i'm not as smart as my cat, drinking water or dousing myself with water never occurred to me. but when i saw that tall bottle of cold, cold apricot juice...it was like a religious experience. the Looza was like St.Christopher, guiding me through a barren desert hell. i swore i saw a halo hovering above the bottle, but maybe that was just the heat and lack of sleep making me delirious.
i threw all my roommate-shared-food-rules out the window, grabbed the Looza, and chugged it down like a frat boy. i literally inhaled over half of it. i'd replace it later, i thought. i'd apologize to my roommate, and plead insanity.
so, i start walking the half-a-mile to the bus stop. i'm feeling refreshed, hydrated, and fantasizing about swimming in a giant slurpee. my stomach starts rumbling. i figure, whoa, all that Looza must have made me hungry. but... i didn't feel hungry. i felt a little woozy, actually. it was one of those things that make ya go, "hmmm."
i saw the bus approaching at approximately the same time i felt my stomach drop. whatever phantom feeling had developed in my stomach quickly migrated through my colon and started threatening my brown clown. i didn't know what to do...i didn't think i'd make it home before the wave of explosive diarrhea would consume me. i couldn't deal with going home and hovering above our sweaty toilet/cat swimming pool. if i was gonna be a mess, i might as well be a mess in air-conditioning. i hopped on the bus.
and wouldn'tcha know it! the bus was packed like sardines. there was nowhere to sit. i quickly realized this as the doors shut and we started the bumpy ride down Harvard Avenue towards Cambridge. the reason this is important, friends, is as simple as this: gravity. the gravitational pull of my rectum wasn't being helped by me being vertical. it's as if the brown clown knew that a deluge of its own brand wouldn't be stopped until it hit the floor. somehow, when i'm seated on a firm spot, the clown relaxes a bit. it buys me time, see?
so...
i'm freaking out. and i'm getting sweaty...but not heat-related sweaty. more of a "i'm going to shit on the bus" kind of sweaty. every minor pothole we hit, every little bump...was duly noted by my butthole. i'm standing up, holding on to a pole for balance, with people shoved up against me. i was inhaling other people's sweat and armpits and at one point, somebody totally released a silent but deadly guff and it wasn't me. i knew it wasn't me, because i wouldn't take that chance. i could try to let a little guff escape, but then i'd leave an opening for the poop to break on through. i cursed whoever that fucker was because i was sure that it would somehow be contagious and cause my poo chute to go slack, correspondingly. like a call to arms or something...like, "it's alright, fellas! let 'er rip!"
ok. it was hot and sweaty and silent-farty. i was standing in the most awkward, twisted position ever. i was trying to keep the lower half of my body rigid and stable. i was trying not to shit on the bus.
i tried to go to that special place in my mind, where i could pretend this was not happening. but it wouldn't work, as i slowly realized that apricot nectar was really no different than prune juice. and that i had effectively drank a quart of laxative. for a moment, the shit pains and ass-clenching terror faded as the sheer stupidity of what i had done dawned on me. but then the turtle-head urgency hit again. about every 2 minutes or so, i was convinced i was going to shit my pants. i'd pray, pray, pray to the poop god, and somehow, it would pass. then 2 minutes later, the same.
miraculously, i reached Harvard Square without soiling myself. still- the store i worked at was a good 4 block hike. i don't know how i did it... i just waddled. i must have looked like a penquin, going side to side like a giant bell.
but then, as they like to say in New England: wicked pissah! i forgot i had to climb up a massive flight of stairs to get to the back office! i hopped up those stairs like a bunny, two feet at a time.
it was a blur for a bit after that...i ran towards the back of the store, hearing bits of "hey! what are you going here so earl..." and the really old school boston dude who was my boss, going: "where's the fiyah?"
i made it to the back. the bathroom had two stalls in it. i slammed the door open and came face-to-face with one of the sweeter girls who also worked there. she was just starting to wash her hands, and was all: "Oh, hey!" but i was all "GET OUT! GET OUT! EMERGENCY! GET OUT!!!" in my devil voice. she took off running with her wet hands. i had to spend the next two weeks apologizing profusely to her before she'd look me in the eyes again. she was a gentle soul, that townie.
anyhoo-
my ass made it safely to the porcelain bowl, but not before releasing a massive sea of shit. it started flowing as soon as i assumed a semi-squatting position. thankfully, the poop trajectory was a bulls-eye. and whoa! i didn't even know i could have that much poop in my body. everytime i thought i was done, another round. and everytime i'd hear someone approaching the bathroom's door, i'd shriek "I'M NOT DONE, GODDAMMIT!"
i have to say, when it was all over about a half an hour later...i felt like a million bucks! i looked in the mirror...i had a fine sheen of cold sweat on me, and my hair was nappy, but i was all, damn, i think i lost weight! and really- i just felt too relieved to be embarrassed. even when i opened the door and found a few of my fellow employees hootin' and hollerin' and giving me a standing ovation. it was so weird. i was all, "whats up, bitches!" and walked to my station at the front registers. damn right, it was a good day.
this story in particular has curiously become the most requested among all my poop-delighting friends. i will say that this anecdote is probably best told in person, what with all my animated gesticulating and dramatic bloviating.
anyhoo-
it was the summer of 1995 in Boston. me and three other girls in a craptastic two bedroom apartment walk-up.
with no air-conditioning.
between the sweaty, uncomfortable heat and the over-crowding and the general histrionic bullshit that 19-20 year old girls will succumb to, it was a challenging time to say the least. i was working part-time at a music superstore chain in Harvard Square. i don't really remember much about what i did there...usually just clockwatching and reigning over the label maker in the back office. i was a total label terrorist. i would make asinine labels and stick them on everything. suddenly "boobies" and "queeF latifah" and "ANAL*SCANTRON" stickers mysteriously started appearing all over the store (is it any wonder i'd start a poop blog?). it was like my own twist on the "andre the giant has a posse" phenomena, only much, much gayer.
anyhoo-
the heat was especially oppressive one night. i could barely sleep. and when i wasn't sleeping, i was crying because i was too hot to sleep. even our retarded, hallucinatory-prone cat kept jumping into the toilet to get wet, then would stand in front of the fan to cool down. that cat may have liked charging head-first into walls for no reason, but after i saw her do that, her ass was Einstein as far as i was concerned.
anyhoo-
holy shit it was hot! i didn't have to get to work until that afternoon, but i thought "fuckthatshit," and decided to go early and take advantage of the arctic, corporate air-conditioned heaven. so what if they were playing Blues Traveler and Natalie Merchant and Hootie on repeat? granted- on a typical day at the store, especially by the end of the work day, i'd threaten to stab myself in the head with the label maker if they didn't stop playing that shit. but on this one day i could tune anything out...all i could think about was getting to a dry, cool place to sit my fat ass down in.
anyhoo-
i started getting ready for work nice and early that morning. i opened up the fridge and noticed one of my roommates had bought a bottle of Looza apricot nectar. i was parched and sweaty and because i'm not as smart as my cat, drinking water or dousing myself with water never occurred to me. but when i saw that tall bottle of cold, cold apricot juice...it was like a religious experience. the Looza was like St.Christopher, guiding me through a barren desert hell. i swore i saw a halo hovering above the bottle, but maybe that was just the heat and lack of sleep making me delirious.
i threw all my roommate-shared-food-rules out the window, grabbed the Looza, and chugged it down like a frat boy. i literally inhaled over half of it. i'd replace it later, i thought. i'd apologize to my roommate, and plead insanity.
so, i start walking the half-a-mile to the bus stop. i'm feeling refreshed, hydrated, and fantasizing about swimming in a giant slurpee. my stomach starts rumbling. i figure, whoa, all that Looza must have made me hungry. but... i didn't feel hungry. i felt a little woozy, actually. it was one of those things that make ya go, "hmmm."
i saw the bus approaching at approximately the same time i felt my stomach drop. whatever phantom feeling had developed in my stomach quickly migrated through my colon and started threatening my brown clown. i didn't know what to do...i didn't think i'd make it home before the wave of explosive diarrhea would consume me. i couldn't deal with going home and hovering above our sweaty toilet/cat swimming pool. if i was gonna be a mess, i might as well be a mess in air-conditioning. i hopped on the bus.
and wouldn'tcha know it! the bus was packed like sardines. there was nowhere to sit. i quickly realized this as the doors shut and we started the bumpy ride down Harvard Avenue towards Cambridge. the reason this is important, friends, is as simple as this: gravity. the gravitational pull of my rectum wasn't being helped by me being vertical. it's as if the brown clown knew that a deluge of its own brand wouldn't be stopped until it hit the floor. somehow, when i'm seated on a firm spot, the clown relaxes a bit. it buys me time, see?
so...
i'm freaking out. and i'm getting sweaty...but not heat-related sweaty. more of a "i'm going to shit on the bus" kind of sweaty. every minor pothole we hit, every little bump...was duly noted by my butthole. i'm standing up, holding on to a pole for balance, with people shoved up against me. i was inhaling other people's sweat and armpits and at one point, somebody totally released a silent but deadly guff and it wasn't me. i knew it wasn't me, because i wouldn't take that chance. i could try to let a little guff escape, but then i'd leave an opening for the poop to break on through. i cursed whoever that fucker was because i was sure that it would somehow be contagious and cause my poo chute to go slack, correspondingly. like a call to arms or something...like, "it's alright, fellas! let 'er rip!"
ok. it was hot and sweaty and silent-farty. i was standing in the most awkward, twisted position ever. i was trying to keep the lower half of my body rigid and stable. i was trying not to shit on the bus.
i tried to go to that special place in my mind, where i could pretend this was not happening. but it wouldn't work, as i slowly realized that apricot nectar was really no different than prune juice. and that i had effectively drank a quart of laxative. for a moment, the shit pains and ass-clenching terror faded as the sheer stupidity of what i had done dawned on me. but then the turtle-head urgency hit again. about every 2 minutes or so, i was convinced i was going to shit my pants. i'd pray, pray, pray to the poop god, and somehow, it would pass. then 2 minutes later, the same.
miraculously, i reached Harvard Square without soiling myself. still- the store i worked at was a good 4 block hike. i don't know how i did it... i just waddled. i must have looked like a penquin, going side to side like a giant bell.
but then, as they like to say in New England: wicked pissah! i forgot i had to climb up a massive flight of stairs to get to the back office! i hopped up those stairs like a bunny, two feet at a time.
it was a blur for a bit after that...i ran towards the back of the store, hearing bits of "hey! what are you going here so earl..." and the really old school boston dude who was my boss, going: "where's the fiyah?"
i made it to the back. the bathroom had two stalls in it. i slammed the door open and came face-to-face with one of the sweeter girls who also worked there. she was just starting to wash her hands, and was all: "Oh, hey!" but i was all "GET OUT! GET OUT! EMERGENCY! GET OUT!!!" in my devil voice. she took off running with her wet hands. i had to spend the next two weeks apologizing profusely to her before she'd look me in the eyes again. she was a gentle soul, that townie.
anyhoo-
my ass made it safely to the porcelain bowl, but not before releasing a massive sea of shit. it started flowing as soon as i assumed a semi-squatting position. thankfully, the poop trajectory was a bulls-eye. and whoa! i didn't even know i could have that much poop in my body. everytime i thought i was done, another round. and everytime i'd hear someone approaching the bathroom's door, i'd shriek "I'M NOT DONE, GODDAMMIT!"
i have to say, when it was all over about a half an hour later...i felt like a million bucks! i looked in the mirror...i had a fine sheen of cold sweat on me, and my hair was nappy, but i was all, damn, i think i lost weight! and really- i just felt too relieved to be embarrassed. even when i opened the door and found a few of my fellow employees hootin' and hollerin' and giving me a standing ovation. it was so weird. i was all, "whats up, bitches!" and walked to my station at the front registers. damn right, it was a good day.
posted by friendlypoop at Monday, May 15, 2006
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