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110
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October 31, 2008
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I have a lot of strange quirks.  I've decided to cover them here.  And to get the ball rolling, we'll start of with the grosser of them.  I have to say I can not go boom-boom in public bathrooms unless it is a code 3 high emergency situation.  Land the eagle.  Take the browns to the superbowl.  Drop the kids off at splashtown.  I just can not do it.  I don't know if it's a girl thing or what.  Guys don't seem to care.  They can be making sounds of the humpback whale in there, and they will try and outdo the next stall.  I personally have no desire to play battleshits in the boom-boom room.  When an emergency does strike, I'll head in, wait until nobody is in there, sit down, and damn it if some bitch doesn't come right on in.  This necessitates holding it.  You never can tell if it might echo or something.  They will pee, wash their hands, put on a new coat of make-up, fix their hair, build a campfire and just stick around forever.  Meanwhile, I'm in my small prison with my stomach cramping and sweat and tears pouring down my face.  All I want to do is scream "Leave Bitch!!!".

I did a brief stint in retail as a front-end manager.  The store had one of those private "family" restrooms at the back of the store.  Once I feel the bubble guts coming on, I head that direction.  Invevitably some old lady would ask where something is.  "5 aisles down, on the left side, 1/2 way down on the second shelf".  "Can you show me please?".  Oh my shit, PLEASE, NO!  So I walk her over, knowing that number 2 is starting to poke it's head out.  I feel like I'm crowning or something.  Once I would show it to them, they want to know where the next item is.  And of course, it's on the OTHER side of the store.  By now I'm walking on my tip toes with my butt clamped shut so tight my ass muscles are starting to spasm.  Get her over there, and lo and behold she has another request: "can you bend over and pick that up for me?".  HELL TO THE NO! Sorry lady, but I gotta go.  Litterally.  By this time, I am in labor, and I can only walk a couple of steps without having to stop for the intense pain of the contractions.  When I make it to the back, you guessed it....some little kid is locked inside and playing.  His Mom thinks it's cute.  Me, not so much.  So into the public one I go.  Usually a hand dryer can cover any excess noises of the process, but of course these are only operable when there is an actual hand there.  I debate quickly as to whether or not I want to gnaw my arm off and let it hang in front of the sensor.  There's no time now, we are calling all cars and the baby is ready to come out.  So, I find the furthest stall, jump in, and find out I really can give birth to children even after a hysterectomy.

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