I totally just Googled Kristin Wiig poop.
This is the type of gal I would be if I were a public figure.
While accepting an award this week Kristin Wiig started off her speech with:
"I do want to say something from the heart, something actually kind of serious and truthful, I have not pooped in four days — four days! I've been travelling. I'm nervous. I'm getting concerned. I'm wearing a tight dress."
It made me laugh. We've all been there and she said it out loud. Too awesome.
I once went to a wedding buffet in Vegas wearing a too tight dress, ate too much, and watched as my dress got shorter and shorter as my belly got bigger and bigger. Wow that makes me look bad and I guess that's a little different from Kristin's situation, but I was traveling and wearing a tight dress.
I often wish people would talk more about poop. There is a weird line that goes between good manners and discussing things that happen to us every single day. We talk about poop all the time in our house, but sometimes it's hard to shut that off when we go out. We all fart. We all have issues with our stomachs. My teeny, tiny, 36 pound, 6 year old clogs the toilet every time she shits. It's a running joke in our family. But sometimes when I try to share that information with other people I get strange looks. Even from other mothers. I love stories like that. It makes us all seem more human.
Share your shit stories with me.
Here's my worst one. I think I may have shared this one here before, but here it is again.
In 2002 shortly after Easter my husband and I went to a Black Rebel Motorcycle Club show at the Mayan Theater in LA. It was loud, it was awesome, and we had food poisoning.
In retrospect I think it was some leftover ham that did us in.
It hit me first. The music was so loud it was shaking me to my core. My inner core. My intestinal core. I was nauseous. The room was swaying. I felt like total crap as my insides liquified. I notified Carl of my predicament and we headed towards the door. On the way I had to take another run to the bathroom and there were only onesies at the front of the theater. There was of course a line for the ladies room and I asked the girl in front if I could go in front of her because I was sick. I was grey,sweating and doing that dance which indicates that I don't know exactly which end this toxic load is going to come out of. She looked and me and with hate in her eyes proclaimed, "No, because I don't want to go in after you!" If I could have willed myself to explode on her I would have and I still hope she has suffered the consequences of her bad karma. I then proceeded to the available men's room and unloaded from both ends at the same time wrecking the entire room and most of my clothing which had to be disposed of in that poor, poor, bathroom.
In another Kristin Wiig reference, it was just like that scene in Bridesmaids.
We made it to the car with my jacket around my waist (thank fully the theater was very dark) as I continued to heave.
That was the longest drive from LA to Fullerton anyone has ever endured. Not only did I continue to barf, but the sickness then hit Carl. He didn't miss a beat while driving down the 5 Freeway and barfing into a scavenged Ralph's bag. (Get it? Ralph's: it's a store in Ca, and a handy name for a bag to puke in). The cloud of funk that must have emanated from that car when we got out could have infected the entire city. That night Carl and I took turns hugging the toilet and we have never eaten leftover Easter ham since.
See. Don't I seem more human now?
No comments:
Post a Comment