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It’s that time again, where you share a little bit too much about yourself with thousands of strangers.  To read about everyone else’s horror stories, go to LiLu’s TMI Thursday page:)

Have you ever really given a thought to how odd it is to use public bathrooms?  No…well, I’ll give you a minute.  Ponder over how many bums have rested (or unsuccessfully hovered) there before you?

Isn’t it kind of a weird thing when you really stop and think about it?  I’m sure you are wondering where this all came from.  Well, when T and I went to see New Moon, I decided to go to the bathroom before the movie started.  I rushed in and headed straight to the stall to do my business.  As I was sitting there, it hit me how weird it was to be peeing in a bathroom filled with strangers.  Here I was tinkling with about 5 other girls standing in front of the mirror (right outside my door) primping and chatting.  I’m not weired out by that type of thing, but it just struck me as very odd.  These girls were giggling and laughing, and I was practically peeing in front of them.  Of course there was a door, but how much privacy does it really offer?

As I was heading back to the theater, I was thinking how glad I was that I am not a guy.  Peeing in a little stall with a stranger right outside the door or next to you is odd enough.  I can’t imagine having to stand next to someone while having my man parts out and peeing, being close enough that you could practically rub elbows in the process…creepy!  Honestly, if I were I guy, I’d be pretty pissed (ha ha) that I didn’t get my own separate stall.  Who wants to answer nature’s call with some random dude right next to you?  Definitely not me.  And on a gross thought – we all know how bad guys are at aiming…what if there’s a splash back from your piss pal beside you?  Nasty…

After I pondered the oddity of going number 1 in public, I started thinking about number 2.  Why is it that a bathroom is always empty, except when you have to drop a bomb?  Like seriously, Murphy’s got something out for you if you go number 2 in public.  There is nothing worse than having an upset stomach and having to use a strange toilet, and then meeting a group of ladies in the bathroom on your mad dash to the pot.

I don’t know about you, but I get stage fright in these situations.  Plus I don’t want these strangers to hear me fart or to hear a splash.  That is utterly mortifying to me.  The other horrible situation is when you are mid-deuce, and people come in to the bathroom.  Even if you courtesy flush, the room is not smelling like roses.  Then there is the shame of exciting the stall and having someone go right in after you.  I always pray that they don’t get hit with a wall of poo stink.  Fingers crossed…

Even though it’s odd, nothing will stop me from going potty in public.  I have the bladder of a squirrel, so there is no way in hell I can go all day without peeing.  And don’t even get me started on my jacked up stomach.  When you gotta go, you gotta go!

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It’s that time again, where you share a little bit too much about yourself with thousands of strangers.  To read about everyone else’s horror stories, go to LiLu’s TMI Thursday page:)

This isn’t really a “real” TMIT, but just some random thoughts that I have on a regular basis that may convey just a little too much information about me or the people around me.

1.  Having long hair is a newer experience for me.  Since about early 2001, my hair hasn’t really touched my shoulders.  Now it goes a little below them, which is pretty long for me.  What I’ve noticed about this is that my hair tends to end up in very random places.  It falls down my shirt and feels like a bug crawling around.  After showers, I tend to notice that sometimes some strands are in my butt crack.  Yeah, it’s strange.  Does this happen to anyone else?

2.  Boob sweat.  What is the deal with that?  It drives me INSANE.  I’m pretty well-endowed in the chestal region, so my girls get a little toasty in my push up bra sometimes, especially in the cleavage area.  What’s even worse is when the girls are commando and you get the under boob sweat.  It’s so not sexy.  Is there a boob deodorant out there?  If not, maybe someone should invent it.  That would be awesome.  Do any of you chesty ladies have this issue? It doesn’t seem to be a problem for my average-chested friends.

3.  Nose blowing in public.  I know this can’t be avoided all the time, but nothing grosses me out more than people who blow their nose at the table or while they are around other people.  I know you can’t always escape the situation, but I definitely feel that there are ways to be more discreet about it.  The weird thing is, if you’re my friend it doesn’t bother me as much as when you are an acquaintance.  I’m strange…I know.  What is your stance on this?

I’m sure there are more TMI things I could share, but I’m drawing a blank right now…

It’s that time again, where you share a little bit too much about yourself with thousands of strangers.  To read about everyone else’s horror stories, go to LiLu’s TMI Thursday page:)

Since I have just returned from a trip to Germany (I can’t believe I’ve been back a week already) I thought I would share a very funny and random TMIT with all of you lovelies.

I don’t know how many of you have been to Germany, but if you have, one of the first things you notice when you use a toilet in a house or hotel (most public toilets are the same) is that they are different from American toilets.  I know you are probably wondering how a toilet can really be that different, but it Germany it can.

Take a look at example A.  It is a toilet that you see in America, no matter where you go.  There is a deep bowl, filled with water.

American Toilet Example A – American Toilet

Now, take a look at Example B.  It’s a German toilet.  Instead of being greeted by a big bowl of water, you are met with a small puddle of water that rests on a shelf.  Down a steep slope from the shelf is the hole, where the rest of the water resides.

German toiletExample B – German toilet

I will give you a few moments to ponder over this oddity….You ready?

Now, I grew up in Germany.  But I always forget about the Poop Shelf (our wonderful nickname for it) until I visit and experience it for the first time.  It is seriously makes for one of the nastiest bathroom experiences ever.  For girls, going pee isn’t bad; it’s practically the same.  For guys, I’m sure there is a degree of splash back due to the shelf.  Going number 2 is a whole different story.

Imagine if you will, that you are on a vacation in Germany.  You have been drinking beer religiously because in most places it’s cheaper than soda or water.  You are eating a diet full of meat (deli, cooked, sausage – you name it, you’re eating it), carbs and probably not as many veggies as you should be having.  All of this heavy eating and drinking takes a toll on your digestive track, so you have to make frequent trips to the bathroom.

You saunter into the bathroom, cop a squat, and do your business, only to be met by the most foul odor you can imagine.  Because when you poop in Germany, Mr. Hanky does not submerge into a pool of water, which helps dissipate the stench.  Instead, he lands in a tiny amount of water on the Poop Shelf, wafting his stankiness up and out of the toilet.  It is awful!

In this instance, you try to be polite and courtesy flush.  But if you are not physically prepared to assume a skiers crouch, your tush will get splashed by the violent rush of water that is necessary to propel Mr. Hanky to his final destination in a sewage treatment plant.

I’m sure you are wondering what the Poop Shelf is for.  Well, I will tell you.  It’s for making the collection of stool samples so much easier.  Instead of trying to unload in a tiny cup, you can just do it on the shelf and scoop it out.  How ingenious!  – I could not imagine having to scoop poop out of the toilet in a cup, shudder.

For those of you really interested in the Poop Shelf, check out this hilarious article I found comparing German and American toilets.

So, have any of you had any strange toilet experiences in your travels overseas? 🙂



It’s that time again, where you share a little bit too much about yourself with thousands of strangers.  To read about everyone else’s horror stories, go to LiLu’s TMI Thursday page:)

A couple of years ago, T, JD, Z and I all made a Saturday excursion to Atlanta’s Renaissance Fair.  It’s located about 25 minutes south of Atlanta, so it really wasn’t a bad journey at all

Growing up, we went to the Ren Fair almost every year.  We gouged ourselves on giant turkey legs, funnel cake, meats on sticks, soda – you name it, we ate it.  We’d gather around to watch the shows and take pictures with the workers in period costumes.  My sophomore year of high school, the highlight of the year was the class field trip to the Ren Fair.

When our little group made our trip in 2006, none of us had been in years.  Why did we go – you ask? Well, JD’s roommate and his brother were both working at the fair.  Her roommate was one of the musketeers and his bro was some dragon they were hunting during the show.  We wanted to see them dressed up in their crazy costumes, and they gave us free tickets.  We couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

It was a humid May Saturday that alternated between sunny and overcast.  We ran into the roommate and brother, took some photos with them, then explored the festival for the rest of the day.

I hate to say it because we did have fun, but it just wasn’t quite as magical as it was when I was younger.  Since I’m older now, I started to notice all of the people who were a bit weird and a little too into the Renaissance era.  At some point you have to stop dressing up in period costumes like a teenager, you know.

At one point we were all walking around, exploring all of the little shops, when we saw something that made our jaws hit the dusty ground.  Walking towards us was this early 20-something year old chick in the strangest outfit we had ever seen.  She had on a black suede/leather bustier (that was showing a lot of chest) and a matching skirt that was basically just strips of leather hanging halfway down her thigh.  It was short and hoochy.

As she walked by us, we all stared her down because we were slightly shocked – it is a family place and she looked like a street walker.  And then I saw it…a blonde bush poking out through the leather strips that were exposing her hoo-ha as she strolled through the festival.

I squeaked out a “No fucking way!” and pointed her out to the rest of the group.  Everyone was cracking up because we couldn’t believe that we just saw some medieval-loving chick’s va-jay-jay.  We all continued to watch her walk by, and then we were exposed to her bare ass – confirming the fact that there was no way in hell she was wearing any panties.

While we were dying and discussing what we’d just seen, this woman pushing a stroller looked over at us and said, “I can’t believe that girl is walking around with her twat hanging out.”  We all nodded our heads in agreement and continued to crack up laughing.

I seriously don’t understand some people.  What in the hell would make you think it was ok to walk around family-friendly fair with your goods exposed for all the people (and children) to see?  Some people need to be smacked upside their heads occasionally.

It’s that time again, where you share a little bit too much about yourself with thousands of strangers.  To read about everyone else’s horror stories, go to LiLu’s TMI Thursday page:)

I’ve always thought this was a hilarious story when I first heard it.  Thankfully it doesn’t involve me…

During her junior of college, Little S went to New Orleans for Mardi Gras with some friends.  They weren’t actually there for Fat Tuesday but the weekend before.  Of course it didn’t matter that it wasn’t the actually holiday; the city was packed.

They weren’t staying in New Orleans but in Baton Rouge.  They all got up early Saturday morning to catch a shuttle bus to take them to the festivities.  They arrived a little before noon, and they “laissent les bons temps roule.”

They walked around Bourbon Street, having drinks, throwing beads, watching parades, just having a good time.  At some point they stopped for lunch, but weren’t able to stay too long because their group was so big and there wasn’t much room.

Fast forward to early evening and everyone was pretty tipsy.  They had been drinking and walking around all day, and they didn’t get much sleep the night before.  As the evening progressed, the streets got more and more crowded.

At one point, one of Little S’s guy friends (we’ll call him Mac) had to pee really, really bad.  The lines at the bars were super long, and he wouldn’t have made it if he had to wait.  He didn’t want to pee in the street and risk getting in trouble.  At some point someone suggested that he go into a souvenir shop and buy something and then he could go to the bathroom.  He liked the idea, so he ran into the nearest cheesy gift shop.

Mac bought the first thing he saw – a pair of cheapo sunglasses for $10.  He went to the counter and paid.  As he turned to leave, he asked the cashier if he could use the restroom.  She glared over the top of her glasses at him and snapped, “NO!  It’s for employees only!”  Mac was desperate, so he pleaded with the lady.  She still said no and sent him on his way.

By this point, it was getting hard for Mac to walk – not only was he buzzing, he had to piss like a racehorse.  He was on one side of the store and had to go clear across it to make it to the door. As he made his way to the door, very slowly, he saw one of his friends standing down an aisle full of tacky purses.  You know the ones…with the old Hollywood glamour photos on them, sequins and fake crystals?

His friend is standing there making fun of the purses when Mac finally staggered over.  The friend saw him and knew that he hadn’t been to the restroom.  She took a deep breath, looked at him, and with total sincerity told him “Why don’t you just pee in the corner over there?  No one will see you, and I’ll stand cover.”

So Mac did what any desperate person in his situation would do – he unzipped and let it flow.  Well, at this point Mac was a little pissed (haha) off at the rude cashier, so he began to aim his stream towards the wall of tacky purses.

One poor purse bore the brunt of his anger.  A Marilyn Monroe purse that happened to be at the front of the rack.  He peed like Jimmy Dugan in A League of Their Own and that was the day the poor Marilyn got her very own golden shower.

marilyn

I always wondered what happened to that purse and to the person who may have eventually bought it…


It’s that time again, where you share a little bit too much about yourself with thousands of strangers.  To read about everyone else’s horror stories, go to LiLu’s TMI Thursday page.  🙂

During the summer of 2004, I studied abroad for 7 weeks in south France.  I made some awesome friends and got to visit some really cool places.  The best part about the trip was that we were a 20-minute bus ride from the beach and that we were in a college city.  There were tons of bars and clubs in the area, so we always had a place to go.

One night toward the end of our trip, our group decided to go bar hopping.  I met up with my friend CoLo at her house because she lived in town, then we headed out to join the rest of the group.  We started our evening with mojitos at a place called Cubanitos. We spent a few hours there, then decided to head somewhere new.

On our way to our next locale, we decided to stop at the grocery store to buy a couple of bottles of champagne.  We all passed the bottle around, sitting on the steps of the church in the square.  Only in Europe could you do that without getting arrested!

After we downed the champagne, we headed to a bar called Barbarous (I’m rusty on my french spelling capabilities) which means Redbeard.  It was like a pirate ship, and it was dark and crowded once you walked down the stairs to get into the bar.

We were hanging out at the bar, ordering beers, when we noticed that the bartender had left a bottle of liquor sitting within our reach.  CoLo and I looked at each other, nodded, and she grabbed the bottle.  We made a bee-line to the bathroom to hide out for a moment, then we reemerged to get some glasses and ice so we could drink out booty (arrrh).

The thing is, it wasn’t ordinary liquor.  This bar was known for soaking fruits in rum to infuse the rum with flavor.  Then you poured it over ice and sipped on it.  Normally a table would share the bottle – FYI it wasn’t a huge bottle, it was tall and skinny – but CoLo and I decided to just share it between the 2 of us.  We were so excited, until we tried it.  We realized we’d grabbed a rhubarb-flavored bottle.  It wasn’t the best, but we drank it anyway.

After we polished off the bottle, it was probably after 2 a.m.  That didn’t stop us, and we ventured to some type of club, where we ran into our waiter from Cubanito.  He insisted we hang out with him for a while, so we did.  He bought our drinks, we laughed and danced.  It was a lot of fun.

Around 4 a.m., we decided to call it a night.  CoLo and I were stumbling through the fairly deserted town, giggling and being stupid.  We were upset because there was nowhere to get any late night food.  As we were bitching, I suddenly realized that I had to pee.  Really, really bad.  So bad it was hard to walk, and we probably still had about 10 minutes to go before we got to her place.

So I did what any drunk girl would do in my dire situation.  I copped a squat by the side of some hundred year old building and did my business.  Except it wasn’t really going as planned.  The streets were old, so they were really smooth stone.  And when you pee on them, it causes it to splash back up on your feet (eww, I know).  I was desperately trying to avoid the stream bounceback, but it was not working.  My constant shifting to avoid the stream, literally led to me accidentally peeing on my feet a little.

In our drunken state, CoLo and I found this extremely hilarious, and we couldn’t stop laughing.  I ended up having to trudge back to her house in pissed on flip flops, which I wasn’t too happy about.  I’m pretty sure no one saw me though, so that’s always a good thing!

And the next day, we had the worst hangovers ever.  We could hardly move it was that bad.


It’s that time again, where you share a little bit too much about yourself with thousands of strangers.  To read about everyone else’s horror stories, go to LiLu’s TMI Thursday page.

This is a very special story.  Luckily it did not happen to me, but I was there to deal with the aftermath…

It was fall 2004, and I was a senior in college.  Little S was a new freshman.  She and some of her friends had fake IDs, so they would come and hang out at the bars with us from time to time.  On Friday night, Little S’s friend DJ was visiting us for the weekend.  He was super excited to be going out in Athens and couldn’t wait to hit the bars.

He came up pretty early in the afternoon, so we decided we’d go to the store to get some dinner.  We bought a rotisserie chicken, some sides, and some beer.  DJ also got himself some chicken tenders.  We all sat down to eat and have a few beers.  DJ ate a lot.  I was surprised at how much food the kid could put away.

Fast forward a few hours later, a few more friends came over to pre-game before we went out.  DJ kept chugging cheap vodka out of the bottle (he called it a shot, it was more like giant gulps).  We played some drinking games, the boys may have shotgunned a few beers, and then we were on our way.  We ended up in this bar/concert venue called Tasty World.  We were all hanging out, having some drinks and having fun.

Some of our guy friends were Marines, so they tended to drink like crazy.  At one point all the Marines and DJ were taking shots of liquid cocaine (they vary from place to place, but they are super strong – all liquor).  I looked over just in time to see DJ shoot it and spew it ( and some of his dinner) back into a shot glass and then into a pint glass.  Ewww, gross! I knew it was time for him to go because most bars don’t take kindly to people barfing in the open.  One of the Marines and I took him back to my place.  FYI – it was barely 11 p.m.

By the time we got him home, he was super stumbley and not feeling well.  I dragged him into the bathroom so he wouldn’t get sick in my living room.  At that point he told me he had to pee, so I told him to sit on the toilet (I didn’t want him to miss) and I’d be back to check on him.  I walked out and about 30 seconds later I heard a huge splat sound coming from the bathroom.

I knocked on the door and peeked in.  DJ had started throwing up…in my bathtub.  Since he was sitting on the toilet, the tub was the closest place for him to aim.  Let me tell you, in my entire life I have never seen so much puke come out of one person.  The tub was practically half full (lengthwise) of regurgitated chicken,  side dishes, and alcohol.  The bathroom reeked!

Luckily for him, I kick into mom mode when someone is sick or hurt (I don’t know how I do it), and I managed to help DJ get cleaned up, changed and comfortably spread out on the bathroom floor.  He was not to be trusted to sleep anywhere else.  Then I had to take care of the oh-so-nasty tub.

Unfortunately our drain wasn’t one of those open ones where stuff could flow easily down.  No, it had to have a little cover over it that kept stuff from going down.  That meant I had to scoop the puke out of the tub with a solo cup to put it in the toilet so I could flush it.  I kept repeating that action until the rest would wash down the drain.  It was seriously one of the most disgusting things I had to deal with.  To make matters worse, it was really cold outside, so that meant we couldn’t leave the windows open for hours because it would freeze the place out.

Needless to say, I returned downtown to be rid of the smell and enjoy a much-needed drink or two.  I’m not sure how the hell I ended up being the one to take care of DJ and his mess.  All I know is that I wanted to smack some people for getting him all tanked up and making me take care of him.

Happy TMIT!


It’s that time again, where you share a little bit too much about yourself with thousands of strangers.  To read about everyone else’s horror stories, go to LiLu’s TMI Thursday page.

A couple of weeks ago T and I attended the wedding of some of our close friends.  It was a nice wedding in a hotel in downtown Atlanta.  Both the bride and groom went to big football schools, so you knew there was going to be lots of drinking going down.  There was a cocktail hour followed by 3 hours of an open bar.

I never saw anyone do anything crazy in the ballroom we were in.  Everyone was dancing, drinking, laughing and having a good time.   Everything was kosher.

At one point, T and I had to use the restroom.  So we hiked across the floor we were on to the hallways where the bathrooms were.  Once we reached the entrance of the hall, we noticed a foul smell.  Then we looked down.  Some guy (I’m assuming it was a guy since there was a trail leading to the men’s room) had thrown up all over the hallway.  It was disgusting.

To escape the rancidness of the situation, I ducked into the ladies room.  Only to have my nose assaulted by another horrific stench.  I held my breath and walked into the last stall and almost gagged.  Someone had decided that they were too cool to actually sit on the toilet to poo.  Instead, they hovered their drunk ass over the toilet…and missed the bowl.  There was poop all down the side of the toilet, and it was nasty!  Seriously!?!  Who does that?  The part I thought was really shitty (hardy har har) was that it was the handicapped stall, the only one.  If there was someone in a wheelchair, they wouldn’t be able to use that bathroom.  Neither would the bride, who would need some assistance holding her dress up.

The thing that disturbed me most about that incident was that we were at a wedding.  Someone blatantly shat all over a toilet while wear a nice dress.  Gross!  I don’t care what your phobias are of public toilets, if you can’t get it in the hole, sit on the bowl.  No one wants to see the mess you left behind.

I feel sorry for the poor staff who had to clean up the nasty hall and bathroom.

It’s that time again, where you share a little bit too much about yourself with thousands of strangers.  To read about everyone else’s horror stories, go to LiLu’s TMI Thursday page.

I am not much of a gym nut.  Going to the gym is usually pure torture.  I’d much rather go walking with a friend or do a workout DVD at home just because I hate dealing with all the people at the gym and waiting for equipment to open up.

One day, JD and I decided to go for a nice long walk.  About 5 minutes in, it began to rain.  This meant we had to cut our workout short.  Once we got back to her house, she remembered that she had gotten this free pilates DVD with a pack of chicken she bought (weird, I know), so we decided we should try it out.

I am not one who does yoga or pilates very often because I can’t control myself.  I either can’t do the positions right and then tip over, or I am too busy laughing at how awkward I must look in some of the crazy positions to really focus on what I need to be doing.

We put in the DVD and waited anxiously for our pilates session to begin.  I think we got a pretty good workout in and both of us were maintaining our focus really well.  And then we got to the ab section.  We were doing some kind of reverse crunch  move when all of a sudden the silence was shattered by two loud TTTTTHHHHUUURRPs!

JD and I looked at each other and nearly died.  Whatever crazy move we were doing was causing to make farting noises…not out of our butts but  out of our va-jay-jays.  Yeah, it was special.

We continued doing the exercises, which resulted in an extra unique chorus of queefs.  By the end of the workout, we were laughing so hard we could barely breathe.  We were both gasping for breath and joking about how glad we were that we were in her living room and not a class.  That would have been super embarrassing.

After that little episode, I am seriously leery about ever doing yoga or pilates in public.  How are you supposed to control that?  Or maybe everyone’s queefing, so it really isn’t that noticeable?

It’s that time again, where you share a little bit too much about yourself with thousands of strangers.  To read about everyone else’s horror stories, go to LiLu’s TMI Thursday page.

Back in high school, I had this obsession with disco balls.  I’m not really sure why – maybe because I always wanted to be able to live in the 70s.  A little over a year into our relationship, T bought me a disco ball for my birthday that looked sort of like this, minus the spotlight:

discoball

I thought it was the coolest thing ever!  I never hung it on my ceiling, and instead kept it sitting on my bed.  I had this crazy huge headboard that had a ledge to put things on as well as sliding doors that I could put stuff in.  It was pretty handy.  And so the disco ball sat there.

One afternoon, T came over to my house to hang out.  Since my parents weren’t home, we decided to sneak upstairs for a little nookie.  We were doing our business and suddenly something went very painfully wrong.

T was on the bottom, with his head near the headboard.  Since we were in the throes of passion, the headboard was rocking (so don’t come a knocking – haha).  What I wasn’t noticing was that the little disco ball was inching closer and closer to the edge.

All of a sudden I heard a crash-thud, and a little yelp.  I opened my eyes to see the discoball,  with real glass mini-mirrors, had landed right on T’s face.  Naturally I freaked out.  His forehead was red and puffy.  There were little shards of glass on his face and eyelashes.  He was actually bleeding a little too.  I stopped to lean over and make sure he wasn’t seriously hurt and to wipe of his face.  And do you know what he said to me?  Don’t stop, keep going!  Guys will let nothing get in the way of their grand finale.  So, we moved the disco ball and kept going.

Afterward, we went to the bathroom so he could get a better look at his poor face.  He wasn’t banged up too bad, but you could definitely tell something had hit him in the face.  Of course as we were inspecting his injuries, my mom came home from work.  T started to freak out a bit since he knew my mom would notice his puffy forehead (she always notices the littlest things).  And that’s when I came up with the greatest story ever.

We told my mom that T was trying to be funny and bounce me off the bed, so he did a flying leap that caused the disco ball to fly off the ledge and hit him in the face.  She showed some concern, but definitely had a laugh at poor T’s expense.  I’m pretty sure she bought the story, but years later I told her what really happened.  And that made her laugh even more.

After that little incident, the disco ball ended up with a new home – my dresser.

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