Apparently, I am the opposite of anal retentive

Retirement at 30 is awesome.  I get to do pretty much anything I want on a given day, which sometimes includes helping hubs out at his screamingly successful business.  I get to do the fun stuff, which lately has meant helping with recruiting new employees.

The calls go something like, “Hi there.   Your resume looks pretty fancy and wouldn’t you like to make enough money that your wife doesn’t have to work anymore?  Yes?  Well then you should come in for an interview.”

I’m great at it.  Well, sorta.

It also means I’m on hand for any other odds and ends things he needs done, which he loves and I enjoy because I end up feeling useful at least once a week. I guess that’s my minimum.

Today there was an HR explosion that resulted in hubs being alone in the office without an admin, and having an appointment that he needed to get to.  Lucky him, I was here, and jumped at the chance to help out.

So now it’s just after 4 p.m. and I’m on my own answering phones until 5.

Which of course means that right now, at this very moment, I have to poop.


It’s been a rough week for my co-workers


When I have to poo at work I have a really bad habit of waiting until the last possible minute to go to the bathroom.

I’m usually right in the middle of something important, and need to finish my thought before it falls out of my head.  Granted, this usually results in my having to walk very briskly and ignore if someone calls my name while I’m flying by, but so far it’s been a successful option.

But today, I think I waited a smidge too long.  I stood up, took two steps, and then had the five-step-walking-toots.

Every step was a fart.  And they were LOUD.

Have I mentioned that I work for a technology company in an office environment that is SO quiet that they actually added a white noise fan so that it isn’t eerie?

I took an extra long time in the bathroom and a different route back to my cube after that experience, all while hanging my head in shame.

I guess it could be worse.  I could have shit myself.

Oh I am TOTALLY a weirdo

I would be embarrassed that “fat kid poop” is now my most popular search term, but let’s be honest here, I’m not the one searching it.

So for the 27 of you who have ended up on my blog because you were interested in “fat kid poop” I would like to say hello.

And remind you that everybody poops.

I guess I’m just the weirdo that decides to write about it.

Welcome to my world.

Unicorn Poop- you HAVE to know, don’t you?

Confession: Every time someone I know in “real life” tells me they read my blog I spastically scamper around in my brain to remember what I wrote about that day.

If it so happens to be weightloss in my vagina for example, I respect the person even more for admitting that they read it.

I was recently asked if I’m ever embarrassed that people know so much about me because of what I write about. I think that’s kind of a dumb question. I put this gross, graphic and totally personal information out on the interwebz, and then I tag it for search optimization.
If I didn’t want someone knowing about my plethora of issues and homicidal tendencies towards my husband, I wouldn’t blog about it.

But the stuff here kittens, it’s fair game.

So in an effort to overshare to the max, because we’re all friends here and that’s what we do, I shall leave you with this parting thought.

I roasted up a big pan of beets a few nights ago, and had more than a servings worth yesterday as part of my lunch.
Now anyone who has eaten beets knows that the best part about beets is the color they turn your poo the next day. Usually, I’m not one to comment on how pretty my poop is, but beet poop is pretty epic.

So this morning at work I do my usual… ahem… routine. The stalls were all full in the ladies room so I made it quick, and since I’m wearing a dress I just did a quick panty pull up and flush before I opened the bathroom door and walked out.

I didn’t realize that there was someone waiting in line behind me to use the facilities.

Now, the poo had gone down (please tell me I’m not the only one who ALWAYS makes sure of this before exiting the stall), but the water was still in its refresh process. And since there had been beets involved the night before, the water was a kind of brilliant shade of fuchsia.
The woman who walked in the stall after me literally gasped and then exclaimed, “my God Nicole, are you all right?!”

To which I could think of no better way to respond then, “Oh I’m fine. That unicorn I ate last night isn’t setting particularly well though.”

I washed my hands and skipped out. I really, truly, wish I could have seen the look on her face.

Evidently, it’s ok to talk about poop


My sister insists that I talk about poop more than anyone she knows.  Evidently, it’s not an acceptable topic of conversation.

I think she just doesn’t hang out with the right people.

A million years ago, when I was a runner, poop was a regular conversation starter.  I remember having lengthy discussions about where to store the TP you would eventually need one day during a long run, and sharing our worst “runners trots” horror stories.

I’ve crapped in a cornfield and nearly been attacked by wild dogs, kids.  That’s a story worth sharing during happy hour.

Fast forward to my triathlon days, where sex and poop were what training partners bonded over.

Not having sex, talking about it.  Though had I been single I would have humped the crap out of a few of my training partners too.

I will never forget the online conversation with a group of triathletes where a woman was told it was ok to go to the bathroom on the bike.  I guess she didn’t realize that meant #1 and NOT #2, and dropped a duce in her tri shorts.  The conversation delved into the particulars of feel and smell, and those who were on the ride with her added their commentary.  That cemented that idea-I’ve-never-had firmly on my NOT to-do list.

Now that you’ve read that you’ll never forget it either, will you?

This morning at Crossfit, Mickey-Blue-Eyes (who is probably too young to get that movie reference) was talking about his lovely job in the medical field.  During our walking lunges he mentioned that his primary job duties involve “removing the poop from the butts old guys who can’t go on their own,” or something along those lines.

It takes a lot to render me speechless, but for about a solid minute afterwards I just had to process that statement.  It was simultaneously super disgusting and possibly the most awesome thing I’ve ever heard.

As it turned out, most everyone agreed that poop is gross, but it didn’t bother them to talk about it.  At 6 a.m…  while doing chair sits… and sweating.

So I’ve decided, there are groups of people and occasions in which it is ok to talk about poop.  In my extensive poop-talk experience, it’s acceptable to talk about it with anyone you work out with.  I guess once someone has seen you with the potential to drown in a puddle of your own sweat, that’s a bond that can withstand a lot of grossness.

Sorry sis, but you’ve been over ruled.  You have a toddler.  You of all people know, shit happens.