* Wook at my cute wittle puppy he is just the sweetest wittle guy ever.

* If that asshole doesn't stop eating my fucking trash and leaving tissue everywhere I am putting all of his toys in time out for one week.

* I have the flu.

* I think I have cancer, arthritis, scarlet fever, pneumonia and the plague.  AM DYING.

* Catered for a wedding, so beautiful, love working up at the lake.

* What kind of idiot invites 125 people to their wedding? 375 Plates to wash IS NOT OKAY!!!!!

* Scabs have soaked off, dirty water soaking into my body through open wounds, am going to die dish related death.  

* Oh hay I is still sick forget the plague I now have Malaria and West Nile Virus.

* I grew the worlds best tomatoes ever.

* This winter is going to suck without tomatoes.  Woe is me.

* Fucking dog NO TISSUE MEANS NO TISSUE.

* Mmmmm flannel sheet season,

* Remember that time I gave up eggs?  Yeah that was stupid I miss ranch dressing.

* The squeeze In restaurant has eggless ranch dressing.  The world is right again.

* I microwaved my ranch on accident.  The world sucks again.

* My floors are so pretty and mopped.

* I have two kids and a dog.  My floors are not pretty and mopped anymore.

* It's almost my birthday awwww yeah, a whole weekend with my husband at a hotel just us all alone together.

* Fuck.  I turn thirty this weekend.  I am old.  Am no longer hip young girl.  

* Psh, thirty is the new 20.  Am still so totally awesome and young.

* Yeah I totally watched Kim Kardashians wedding.  I'm a nerd.

* Khloe Kardashian is totally on my shit list after watching the wedding.

* I am still mad about the 375 plates.

* Did I mention I had to cut up 125 4 oz pieces of salmon?

* I still smell fish on my wedding ring and I am pretty sure it is oozing out of my pores.

* Weeee tomatoes.

* If I ever see another zucchini in my life I'm going to cry.

* My desk is clean, I am so caught up and I look like an office super hero.

* When did the earthquake hit my office, I'm so behind, I'll never be caught up, going to cry, save me.

* Fuck it.  I'm going to burn it all down then I'll never have to see another post it note in my life.

* DIE SQUEAKY TOY! DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

* My burrito is ready.  I'm off to eat now and hopefully cure myself of the Cholera plague I'm dying of. 

This morning I woke up and all I could smell was SHIT!  Or, something rotten.  Really rotten.  Like holy shit if I was pregnant right now I would puke all over my hardwood.  I spent the whole morning sniffing around.  In every room.  In closets, trashes, floors, the drier EVERYWHERE.  

I thought the dog had managed to poop and push it under the couch to hide it from me or something.  

I was livid.  How could I not find a smell this bad?  HOW? 

HOW????

I walked into the laundry room and the smell got worse.  

This is where you could have all helped me out.

You see, if you followed me on Facebook you would have seen this on Wednesday:

Want to see it close up?

So if you followed me on Facebook you would know that Wednesday morning my kids got into a fight near the stairs and Brandon’s cup of milk “somehow” managed to “accidentally” fall down the stairs.  Four minutes before I was supposed to go to work. 

FOUR MINUTES.

Which is why I would have grabbed three rags, wiped up the whole mess, tossed the towels into the washer and ran out the door to work.  

Which would explain why THREE DAYS LATER the rags were still in the washing machine with the door ALMOST all the way shut but not shut enough to hold the smell in.

PEOPLE!

That is three days that milk soaked towels sat rotting in a hot, confined space.  

THREE DAYS.

I had to put my washing machine on super hot sanitize to wash them.  Even then six hours later my house smelled.  I had to open all of the windows and air out my whole house.

So, if you follow me on Facebook you would know, that my kids make messes, I’m having a bad day and I live in a house that smells dog shit.  I just got home from work, and then had to make a run for my second job.  I was stoked to sleep in this weekend.  I am sick, I feel like crap, I just want some rest and my boss asked me to come in tomorrow morning at 8AM.  Normally I wouldn’t want to do that but I have some tattoos I need to get, and shoes to buy so, work a twelve hour day when all I want is to sleep in and get better 

SURE WHY NOT!!!!

Which is why if you follow me on Facebook you will expect to see a lot of cranky exhausted updates from me.  And also, next week, if I complain about a smell PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD ASK ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING IN THE WASHING MACHINE!

**Update** 

25 minutes later this happened

My husband gets this stupid video game magazine in the mail. This bothers me.

A LOT!

Why?

It bothers me because he keeps his magazines in the bathroom.  He used to get Maxim.  I liked Maxim.  I would go in to pee, pick it up, read a page or two and go on my way.  But now.  Oh now I'm stuck with "Gameinformer."

This is the worlds most stupid magazine ever.  

I HATE IT.  

I tried reading it.  I gave it a chance.  I've given two a chance.

I. HATE. BOTH.

There are no girly games in any of these books.  There is never anything about a game I understand like Mario or Astrosmash or Burgertime.

Oh shit wait, those two are Atarie.

SEEEEEEEEEE.

That is how far behind I am in video gaming.

He won't let me pay for any magazines so now I'm stuck with this stupid game one.  I'm not the kind of person to leave a book in there to read and any girly magazines I'll read right away on the couch.

I just don't know what to do.  I mean I used to go in, pee, pick up the book and read in the quiet for a second even though I was all done with the bathroom no one else had to know that I was just having a quiet moment.

GAMEINFORMER stole my quiet moment.  There is no hot chicks to look at on the cover either.  Instead I'm stuck looking at some weird purple animated elf looking dude with some kind of whatthefuckisthat weapon in his hand.

I want my Maxim back!

Its 6:50pm. I want to be off work, but I’m not because I have to sit here and total receipts that the other girl in my office should have done.  Here is a break down of my last five minutes.

I give up.  Shutting it down before I start burning papers and my hairstyle gets any worse.  But I got sweet sweet revenge because I stacked so many piles of shit on her desk today while she was gone.  SO THERE.

I made a post on Facebook tonight and it got me thinking.  I've been with my husband ten years and there are still things I would never do in front of him.

1. I would never ask him to help me pop a pimple.  He's seen me pick my face but I would never ask him to help me pop one.

2. I would never pee with a door open.

3. We never discuss pooping.

4. I will NEVER fart in front of him.

5. If I accidentally fart in front of him I would NEVER admit it.

Are there things that you would never do in front of your significant other?  Are there things you let them see that other people would think you shouldn't? 

You know, I was feeling pretty sorry about myself after my .

But then I remembered, I'm not the only one in my family who shits their pants!

A few months ago I took up running.  It was awesome.  I never knew I could run outside.  I slowly got better and I could run farther and got more brave and started running on back roads.  

That is about the same time I started having a problem.  I always seemed to have to go to the bathroom while running.  At first it was just pee.  I’d heard people joke that you weren’t a real runner unless you had peed yourself while running.  I found myself thinking during about my 4th run that I was in danger of becoming a “real” runner very soon.  I sweat so bad I was sure no one would even notice if I peed all down my legs.  But…I never did it.  I mean, what kind of person pisses them self while running?

During my second four mile run it happened though.  I had to go to the bathroom. 

You know, (number two). 

Badly.

I was two miles in.  I was on a back road that only had two entrances.  The only houses were million dollar houses with gates and 4 acres of property.  

I WAS FUCKED.

I texted my mom

“I have to go to the bathroom I don’t know what to do.”

She was at work only two miles from me.  I assumed she would come get me.

She did not.

I think she just thought I had to pee.

I tried running again and it got worse.  It was going to fall out of me.  

I tried walking and I couldn’t do that.  I was doing some crazy walk with my knees bent in, crouching down willing my asshole to stay closed.  

I WAS COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY FUCKED!

I started looking around.  There had to be somewhere I could go to the bathroom right?  

WRONG!

I shuffled across the street barely making it and found a ditch.  Full of water.  I snuck down into the ditch with cars passing everywhere and when the last car passed I dropped my pants, did my business and then freaked out because:

OH MY FUCKING SHIT NOW WHAT DO I DO?  There were no leaves.  I don’t run with tissue (rookie mistake), I had nothing.  Right about that time I realized my bare ass was facing directly into some ones window and there were cars coming. So I did the only logical thing.  I pulled up my pants and took off running.  FAST.

LIKE REALLY FUCKING FAST PEOPLE.  

I came home horrified.  What had just happened?  I started Googling and found out there is a real thing.  It is called “runners trots.”  It happens to women more then men.  Something about running shakes up all your insides and makes the poop want to come out.

I read more and it said to plan your runs near bathrooms.

Okay,  Easy enough.  I went back to running in the commercial district where there were tons of bathrooms.  The problem was, now I was so worried I would develop a nervous stomach before running and I couldn’t even leave the house without suddenly freaking out about having to poop.

It finally calmed down and my second official 5k was happening.  On mothers day.  Isn’t that sweet?  My husband agreed to run in the slow lane with me (whatever mister I’m so fast that running with you is like skipping along with our three year old only slower). 

Look how happy we were. (yeah I was totally faking)

Right before the run I started freaking out.  I hadn’t pooped and I HAD TO POOP.  But there was no way I could make it the sani huts (notice them behind me all pink for breast cancer) and then back in line in time to start.  I knew it wasn’t an emergency situation so I decided to push through it.  But about one mile in something bad happened.  

I HAD TO FART.  

I started panicking.  What was I gonna do? What if I farted out loud and people near me heard me fart?  I looked around and everyone had on headphones.  

So.

I farted.

But then, oh God.

IT SMELLED.

And it was following me.  And everyone behind me was running right through it.

I nearly died.  I didn’t know what to do.  I had to fart again.  In fact, I realized I HAD TO FART A LOT.  Like, oh shit I should just stop now and go back.  Only, we were in a very rural area and all of the roads were blocked off and I couldn’t do anything about it.  I would end up walking miles back to the starting point if I wanted to be away from people.  I considered knocking on a door and asking to pee but then realized that what if I pooped too and stunk up some ones bathroom?

I began having a panic attack.  I was trying to run my fastest while simultaneously trying to squeeze my ass cheeks shut.  It was not pretty.  I kept running and I just kept farting.  People started passing me and I still don’t’ know if it is because I was going to slow or if it was because it smelled too bad to be behind me.

Rob could tell.  He looked at me and asked if I was okay.  I said I was fine, I just need to hit the Sani Huts to pee when we were done.

I finally (very slowly) made my way to the finish line and bolted to the sani huts.  

And that’s when I realized what had happened.

I hadn’t been farting at all.

YOU GUYS!!!!!!! 

I WAS SHARTING THE WHOLE TIME.

You know, when you fart and a little bit of shit comes out.  Only, I had farted HOW MANY TIMES.

Oh my God.  I was trapped in a Sani hut with…poop.

In. My. Pants.

I couldn’t tell my husband because as far as he knows I don’t poop.  So I did the only logical thing I could.  I unlaced my shoes, took off my pants, carefully took off my undies and shoved them in the trash.  Imagine how hard that was.  My undies all sweaty and covered in poop (kinda runny poop) were all the way up.  How the fuck was I supposed to get them down?  I had to maneuver the hell out of that.  Move my socks just right when I got to my feet, tuck in my toes and slide them off just perfect before deciding to toss them into the blue water.  I loved those undies. Then I used about 17 rolls of toilet paper to clean it up.  I put my pants back on, put my shoes on, walked out, washed my hands and told my husband we HAD TO GO HOME NOW I NEEDED TO SHOWER.

Here is the worst part.  It was mothers day.  I was supposed to go meet my mom and grandma up at my grandmas house.  They had the kids and it was supposed to be a big family thing.  

But seriously y’all.  I couldn’t go up there with shit all over myself.  And my mom wasn’t just going to let me NOT come so I frantically texted her and told her what happened.  

And then my dad checked her text message.  And then my grandma knew, and my kids knew and…I died a little.  My husband kept pushing me asking if it was really going to be okay that we didn’t go up there.  He pushed and pushed and finally I had to tell him I HAD SHARTED like in the movie Along Came Polly.

I’m not sure he’s ever looked at me the same.

I laid a towel down on his seat.  Rode home on the verge of tears and then spent about five hours in the shower.  I didn’t stay for the announcements this year, or the breakfast.  Nothing.  I fucking bolted out of there and came home and hid in the shower.

So.  When people ask how my mothers day was in 2011 I think you will understand when I tell them it was “pretty shitty”, right?

So there. 

Fine.

My horrible story. 

The most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me and I just told the whole blogosphere.  Are you happy now?  Because I think I just might die and go hide in a shell for telling this story.

But…on the bright side….at least I wasn’t wearing shorts right?

 

*Interesting facts:

Sharting is not in the dictonary.

Gooling “holding my poop in” to find a cute comic picture is A REALLY REALLY FUCKING BAD IDEA

I may never recover from telling this to you, so please go easy on me.