Let's be honest...

Okay, let's be honest!  Personally, I have diarrhea of the mouth, but not the kind most people have.  Mine can be perverted, raunchy, disgusting, and vulgar, but it's honest.  The only way I can express what kind of colorfully perverse things go through my head is to articulate them in the most realistically descriptive language possible. One of the characteristics I love most about the English language is its multitude of expressive words.  Subtleties like the difference between the synonyms "imbecile" and "douche-bag" really allows the English-speaker to paint two different pictures.  That is why I devote this blog to painting the everyday mediocrities of my life using neither acrylics nor oils, but simply words.  

 

Let's take yesterday for example.  I woke up next to my boyfriend around 11 AM and sometime between petting my cats and laughing at each other's morning-breath we decided to up and drive 4.5 hours to spend the day in Chicago and drive another 4.5 hours back home.  Upon arriving to the city around 4:45 PM we parked the car in the same parking garage that I normally use when I drive to Chicago.  From the car, we set out into the city on a mission:  to find new pants for Brian (the boyfriend) since the button on his jeans had broken off.  He claimed he couldn’t walk around the city with his pants falling down and that the only solution was to buy new pants immediately.  On our short walk to the Magnificent Mile we passed a Starbucks that holds a special place in my heart.  A few years back, I drove to Chicago to get an international visa to study in Spain (you have to do it in person, since they won’t accept applications by mail and Chicago is the closest place to turn in the app).  I had just pulled into my typical parking garage and felt an intense urge to shit.  I know this may be T.M.I. for my first blog, but let’s be honest.  Basically, that particular Starbucks at 202 North Michigan Avenue was the closest spot with a bathroom.  Let’s just say I made it by the skin of my teeth, and I’ll be forever grateful that I was able to relieve myself.

After searching several clothing stores, Brian failed to find good jeans (shopping for jeans is a bitch), so he decided to just deal with his broken ones.  It wasn’t more than an hour since we arrived and we had already made our way down to H&M, which is a great store for moderately priced, cool clothing.  We were on the third floor – of course men always have to walk either to the very back of the store or go up several flights of stairs to find our section, which is normally a tiny corner with three racks – when I received an electrical impulse from my large intestine to my brain.  It was saying, “Get your ass to a bathroom if you want to wear this pair of underwear back home today.”  It felt as if I were passing a knife through my digestive tract, so I was left with no other choice but to follow my large intestine’s instructions.  So, I quickly told Brian that we had an emergency on our hands and I booked out of that store down three escalators in search of a shitter.  Of course the store had strategically programmed those escalators so that one going down leads to one going up, therefore you would have to walk around to the other side of the store to find the other down escalator and see all of the merchandise on your way there. Eventually, with my ass clenched tighter than a Jew’s change purse, I made it to the street where my eyes scanned for a public restroom.  The first thing I saw was the Border’s Bookstore that is right next door to H&M so I power walked through the doors and asked a security guard where the restroom was. 

 

Now, when I got there of course both stalls were occupied so I stood there in a cold sweat until some zit-faced preteen finished pinching one off.  Needless to say, I was praising Jesus for letting me purge that demon.  I spared my Jockeys a macabre explosion.  It must have been the Fillet-o-fish combo I got at the McDonald’s in Indiana on the way there.  Let that be a lesson to you all!

 

The rest of the day was a delight.  I walked with Brian along Michigan Avenue and enjoyed people watching and sight seeing.  We returned to H&M since our shopping experience was cut short and later got ice cream.  We got a good four hours in the Windy City before we needed to head back home and on the way to the car we saw this lovely woman:

She was the highlight of the trip.  We followed her all the way to Lake Street where the car was parked and couldn’t stop admired her gourd-shaped ass.  She really pulls off that black jumpsuit.  Brian and I both agreed that her name is probably Lisa.  Sadly, we needed to turn the corner to find the car and we had to part ways with her. 

 

On the way to the garage we passed the Starbucks again, so Brian and I went in to get some beverages before the long drive.  Wouldn’t you know?  I started to cramp up again and luckily the bathroom was unoccupied this time.  Round two of the runs was less brutal, but this time it burned like hell.  I might as well have been shitting out Tabasco sauce.  And how ironic!  It was the same Starbucks bathroom that saved my ass (literally) a few years ago.  I should send them a thank you card or something.  Well, long story short, don’t forget to lay a plastic tarp underneath you before you have McDonald’s or you’ll ruin your furniture. 

 

Don’t be scared away by my crudeness.  Shit happens to the best of us.  As Mrs. Doubtfire would say, “Forgive me.  I’m being blunt as a spoon.”  If you want the watered-down version of life, go see someone else’s blog.  Thanks for bearing with me.

Comment on your thoughts :)