I skimmed all my blog entries to 2006 to make sure that I hadn't blog this one in the past.  I can't believe I didn't blog this one.  Actually, it's pretty gross.  Should I be blogging this?  

YES! It is the single most traumatic thing to happen to my body in recent memory. 

I believe that I had been chronically dehydrated until I met Jerry.  (There's a past post from when my pee came out like concentrated freezer orange juice and I punched my kidneys and Jerry force fed me water.)  Because of the dehydration, I've also grown accustomed to being constipated always.  I carried it like a badge of honor that I did not need to waste time on the toilet like the lower earthlings who are slaves to their bodies.

One day in 2006, I was so constipated that I started getting worried.  I had not pooped in almost a week and my bowels were starting to feel uncomfortably firm and heavy. Finally I grew so uncomfortable that I decided that this day would be the day where the poop would come out.  (I also happened to be in Felix's bathroom when I decided to make it happen... which is a weird not often remembered detail about this incident.  Where was Felix as I was trying to rip out his toilet paper holder from the wall because of the pain? ...Probably playing video games.)  

I strained on the toilet for 45 minutes, waiting, praying, legs numbing, reading all the shampoo bottles that I could reach.  (This is actually sort of a weird habit of mine.  If I'm in a house that is not mine and I am pooping, I reach for all your bottles and read the ingredients and directions on them.  It helps me greatly.) 

There was absolutely no progress in those 45 minutes.  I had been straining so hard that my butt hole started swelling.  So sitting on the toilet, cold, numb and scared, I thought of using some cutlery to leverage the poo out.  I entertained this idea for about 5 minutes but the swelling prevented any type of invasive procedure.  How I knew my butt was swelling, I will leave to your accosted imagination. 

(oh yeah, this is why I never posted this story on xanga. This is pretty gross)

I sat on the toilet and prayed some more.  There are only a few times I have prayed this hard.  Once when I was very depressed, once when my cat was about to die, and this incident.  A clear calm resolution then descended onto me.  I had two real options.  Get the poop extracted by a doctor or push so hard that I rip my butt hole.  I believe that ladies in labor have a similar calm descending on them when they realize what they must do.  When it is my turn, I will look my doctor straight into his eyes with understanding and he will look at me with a knowing smile that says "be brave" and then I will rip the hell out of... I probably shouldn't finish this sentence.  

So, I did it.  The poo came out like a giant hard ball with an army of mini balls following close behind like lemmings off a cliff.  The agony of the last 15 minutes was overpowered by determination towards a goal and knowing that I was sacrificing of my body for a something greater.  Now... take the 45 minutes of straining and turn it into 24 hours, then the last part into pushing out a giant baby head, and instead of alone reading shampoo bottles, everyone is looking at your crotch...  

Let's consider Southwest Airlines.  Their seats are generally well designed and comfortable. They have lumbar support and are made of soft cushy padded leather. But the headrest appears to be designed so that I have no choice but to look down and either peruse my crotch or read their Spirit magazine and stare at a half finished sodoku puzzle.  But I am okay with this because I conclude that it is simply because I am of lower than average size and the seats were made for an average human being.

However, I recently went on an American Airlines flight where the seats were designed concave in every aspect.  The only way anyone could comfortably sit in them was if they were a hunched back or if they were a very large egg.

I am used to this.  I will take concave seats and really high headrests with pious long-suffering acceptance.  The reason I am blogging about this is that the difficulty of this particular flight was compounded by the toddler behind me who kicked the seat and the man who farted faithfully every 20 minutes or so.  If you're wondering, it's the kind of fart that smells like when you are riding in a car with someone and they get real sweaty and quiet and then they tell you to pull over on the side of the road and they disappear into the forest and then they come back without their underwear on.

Here's my dramatization of the flight: 

Yes, my legs are spread like I'm visiting the gyno because my short legs do not touch the floor and that is the most comfortable position. I am an annoying passenger too. I am sure disgruntled passengers have drawn pictures of my legs in their arm rests.  And yes, in my dramatizations, everyone is naked. 

The only public transportation seating that works for me is Bart. It is the perfect height for me to rest my head and the seats are cushy and soft.  The only problem is....

It is nasty.  The only reason why the seats conform to my body so well is because years of bacteria buildup have actively broken down the foam padding, making it soft like a tempurpedic mattress.  The headrests are so nasty that even nasty stank bums won't rest their heads on it.  I have to admit though, it has motivated me to wash my hair more frequently.  When I took the bus to work in the city.. Well, you know those grease stains on the window next to the seats? Some of those were me.  Ha! Just kidding?  Im not nasty!  Please dont think I am!.....  it's true, I made some of those, but please, still like me!

I briefly glimpsed first class on my way into the pit of commoners. It looked lovely. Here is what I think they are doing:

They figure if they make it uncomfortably farty and let other commoners kick the seats and treat armrests like gyno stirrups, one out of 100 will crumble and spend their nest egg on an upgrade to first class, never made to stare at their crotch again, unless they want to.  

The wedding crafts have begun!  My maid of honor and I took a rainy afternoon to make what we thought would be these:

This is what they ended up looking like:

To fight off this feeling of sucking, I will tell myself that all the labor we put in that afternoon was to construct a metaphor for life and idealism.  And then I will eat a fudge bar.