A wee little overshare... enter at your own risk.

For some unknown reason, I've decided to share a blog I wrote about a month ago. Please know there is VERY foul language that I have done my best to censor. Read at your own risk. I understand if this gets deleted... but... well... most people seem to enjoy it. The unedited version is here http://www.myfitnesspal.com/blog/odusgolp

Enjoy.

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Do you know what it’s like when a baby fills its footy pajamas with explosive diarrhea? Now… try to imagine the most ungodly smell of that baby’s poo. Like she just went off breast milk and her little body is saying “What in the F***ing heavens is this!! I’m not digesting it!” to the introduction of food. Instead, I’m going to blow it out my rectum with the most ungodly raw sewage smell on the face of the earth!

Now… Do you all have that image firmly planted in your head? Do you have that smell filling your nostrils? We can’t go any further until it’s being fully pictured and appreciated.



Good… carrying right along.



Now, replace the image of that baby with that of a 35 year old woman. And replace the footy pajamas with boots over dress pants.

Oh that’s right… This 35 year old woman sh** her pants. And not just any pants filling funfest, but the most ungodly, loud, foul, uncontrollable sh** you’ve ever dreamed imaginable. But that’s not all… this all occurred, in public.

Oh yes. In public.

You see, I had just had a lovely dinner with my mother when we proceeded to Target to get a couple toys for Christmas. Suddenly, as we’re standing in line to checkout, I say to my mother, “Take my stuff and bring it over later. I’ve gotta go.” I think I’m going to vomit. I’m not entirely sure what I’m feeling. But I’m feeling faint. I’m afraid I may pass out, (I tend to do that and am quite familiar with the sensation). But at no time do I feel the need to crap. I live only a mile or two down the road, so I figured I best just get home and lay down.

That’s when it happened. I’m walking to my car and suddenly there is hot, liquid feces pouring out of my *kitten*… uncontrollably. “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHAT THE F*** IS HAPPENING???” I look around, unsure of what to do. Do I go back into the Target bathroom and hope someone has a power-washer handy to de-sh** everything including myself? Do I hop up on the baby changing station and pray someone will wipe me clean? Do I get in my car and permanently sh** stain my fabric seats? Do I sit on my amazing Calvin Klein green wool coat? WHAT IN THE HEAVENS DO I DO????

Then I remember… I have a crappy (no pun intended) coat in the trunk. Get to the car, grab the coat, throw it on the seat, rush home, and PRAY you don’t get pulled over.

OK, I’ll be OK. I’m half way home… OMG THE PAIN. I’m going to assplode. I can’t stop it. WHAT THE F***. I have no words… Oh Jesus. How do babies do this??? How do they sit in their own crap? This is the most unfathomably horrid feeling. I’d rather be giving birth.

Finally, I’m in my driveway. Now, how do I maneuver this jacket around myself like a diaper to keep all the refuse in and not spew it about the house on my way in? Do I just go fully clothed in the shower? Do I… Seriously, WHAT DO I DO?

No one is prepared for this situation. Ever. And what’s worse is that every time I bust out laughing in hysterics, I sh** a little bit more.

Alas, an hour later, my clothing is thrown away, my body is clean, my house is clean, and I can relax… On the toilet where I continue to sh**. And for good measure, I then start vomiting in the garbage can beside me. Oh yes. I slept on the bathroom floor vomiting the rest of the night.

F*** you food poisoning.