A Crappy Return to Blogging

Never did I think that I would write a post that would tread the lines of self-deprecation...but w/e. I am at work. Why am I blogging at work?

1. I think it's blog worthy
2. I don't want to remember this later in the day.

In short, I've been busy and too lazy/tired to blog. I had this whole blog about an introduction to where I work and blah blah blah but I believe that it could get me in trouble and it's really not worth the time to put up so we're skipping that. I'm at work. I work in Manhattan on 53rd and 6th. I commute to work via NJ Transit bus. Those are the facts. So here's the timeline of my day:

6:00am - I wake up to my alarm for an attempt to go to gym.
6:01am - Set alarm to 7am go to sleep.
6:50am - Mom wakes me up. I turn off alarm that was supposed to go off at 7 and take shower.
7:00am - Still in bed. Go take a shower.
7:15am - Washed up, dress up, get ready.
7:35am - Eat breakfast. It consists of one boiled egg and 2 pieces of whole wheat toast with cream cheese. Every morning. Literally.
7:45am - Poop.
7:50am - Get rushed out the door by my mom and go to bus stop and get on the 8am bus.

From this bus it takes me approximately 1 to 1.5 hours to get to work. On the bus I take out my iPod and take a nap. So of course, today I did the same. About 20 minutes into my nap, I woke up and said 'Uh oh.' Wait. I must backtrack 40 minutes. Today, while I was taking my poo my mom was hollering "GONNA BE LATE GONNA BE LATE." so I took a half poo. Return to the bus: 'Uh oh.'

It was nothing big. Just that little message where your stomach is like "Hey, it's going to be time soon." So I tided this wave out and decided going back to sleep would be the best decision. 20 minutes later, still approaching the Lincoln Tunnel I woke up yet again, but this time to an infuriated intestine. I've never experienced such volatility from my stomach. And from here the torturous clenching of my gluts began. I was squeezing so fiercely that my leg began to twitch. The Lincoln Tunnel and Port Authority are not far from each other at all. But the traffic. OH THE MORNING TRAFFIC. The incessant stop. go. stop. go. Finally we get to the station and I rushed off the bus, nearly shoving elderly, handicapped women out of my way, ran down the two flights of stairs and power walked my way into the bathroom. During this trek I believe I almost pooped myself 5 times. Once at each flight of stairs and 3 times bumping into a slow walker.

I get to the bathroom and THANK YOU JESUS one stall open. I dash at it but my time is getting short, I must release the beast. I tear off my leather jacket and throw it to the ground. Aw, crap. Jacket and headphones are on NYC public restroom floor. Ugh, it came from a cow... I can deal. I rip off my belt and pants and just as I was about to drop them the flood came. I've honestly never pooped with such force. Torrent of feces I might say. Fecal torrent. After my brown storm had subsided, relieved, I blindly reached into the silver canister for the toilet paper and...it was empty. And with a defeated sigh, I let out a quiet "fck..."

A sidenote - I had once heard a story of a famous tweeter who was in the same predicament as my own but tweeted his location and need and indeed got his toilet paper.

My rescue story is not nearly as cool. Upon letting out my swear I heard a small cackle from the stall to my left. Obviously, he was aware of my dilemma and out from under his stall came a shaky hand with a roll of TP for me. I thanked my rescuer, whom later I found out was a homeless man who was evidently tripping on multiple barbituates and had taken off all his clothes to poop. (The whole time he was moaning things like "Oh yea, that's right. Yeah you gotta do it like that.") Whatever, the ordeal is over, and I owe him one. Stomach is relieved and toosh is wiped. Now time to pull my pants up....fck. Upon unleashing my butt's hadouken, some of the fireball had grazed the top part of my boxer shorts. Dammit dammit...I sat and pondered. I indeed played with the thought of cleaning the soiled undergarment but now was no time for experimentation - gotta get to work. I made a quick judgment call and with my pants on, ripped and tore the dirty underwear off from my body. In actuality, I am quite proud of the method I used to go about this. I put my hands in the hole of the front part of the boxer and with a quick tug, ripped them in half clean off my legs. Work of a master. Very effective. From there I went about my usual. Washed my hands as if nothing happened and walked to work.



So there you have it. Officially back to the blog. Yes. I am at work with no underwear on. Commando as some would say. I'm also very hungry. The rest of the day will be picking my wedgey cause my slacks keep getting caught. If you would have done otherwise, please inform me - I believe I had no other choice unless I carry spare underwear in my bag.

And now it's back to work. Toodles. (Haha, I heard someone say that. SO GAY but I like it...)