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Archive for the ‘Below the Belt’ Category

As some of you may know, Chad and I are trying to have a baby. In a very generous and kind gesture, a friend of ours who recently had a baby, gave us a huge bag of things she hadn’t used before she got pregnant: ovulation tests, pregnancy tests, and several books. One of the goodies in the bag was a newfangled digital pregnancy test, a test that does not require the highly skilled ability to count how many lines you see. Instead of showing lines, the test gives you a digital reading that says either “Pregnant” or “Not Pregnant”. And can I tell you? I hate the digital test. With a regular pregnancy test, you have a lot of room for interpretation. Not really, but at least once you’ve seen that the test only has one line, you can stare at the stick for ten straight minutes and convince yourself that maybe just maybe that is not a shadow from your hand, that is in fact a second line. And after ten minutes you feel a little silly and you admit to yourself that the test is negative and you throw it away. This is a slow let-down. This is a doctor who tells you your loved one is critical, but if you have enough faith, miracles are always possible. This is Coming To Terms with a negative pregnancy test in a way that suits me best: slowly and with a lot of second guessing.

A digital test allows for no such wishy-washiness. You pee on the thing and within moments it says “NOT PREGNANT”.

You’re not used to such decisiveness.”Well, lets give it a few sec-”

“NOT PREGNANT”.

“Seriously, the other tests and I do it this way – we hang out and see what happens and – “.

“NOT PREGNANT”.

Know it all bastard.

You just can’t argue with the thing. And then you have to eject the little strip you peed on and put it all away, whereas with a normal lines test, you can pull it out of the trash the next morning to see if maybe 24 hours in the trash was all the test needed to realize that it was horribly wrong, it apologizes, you ARE pregnant.

I don’t see the world in black and white, and I don’t want my pregnancy test to either.

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If you go to http://www.live365.com and search for Muppets you can listen to a radio station that is nothing but Muppet Show songs.

I give you my review: it is super cool.

With all of the different musical guests that the Muppet Show has had, you are guaranteed a wider range of artists and song types than even the super-best internet based radio station that claims to be able to read your mind and give you only songs that you really want to hear can give you. Which never works anyway. Because what you really want to do is listen to whole albums of particular artists and they just wont do that for you. And when I say you I mean me. And when I say they I mean them.

But the Muppet Show! I’ve listened all day and I haven’t heard one repeated song and I keep breaking out in funky-desk-dance (I’m at work – crap! I’ve incriminated myself!).

Hey, guess what? I had a pap this morning. It was great. My last pap was under the watchful eye of my doctor, her nurse, and two training nurses so having it just me and the doctor was nice and not performance-anxiety inducing. Last year I even said, “I hope my vagina is keeping you all entertained down there”. Plus I got my cholesterol checked. Cholesterol=eh, okay. Triglycerides = hmmm when will I have my first heart attack? They’re not that bad but it kind of sucks to have it affirmed that being overweight and eating lots of ice cream really does screw up your health. I was hoping that was just an unfounded rumor.

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The Hiding Pooper

I’d like to talk to you all today about a disturbing phenomenon that I have run into a lot lately – the Hiding Pooper. The Hiding Pooper is the person that sits very quietly in a bathroom stall in a public restroom and makes absolutely no sound the entire time you go about your business. The Hiding Pooper is trying desperately to hide the fact that they are pooping (or they’re reading. They might be reading a good book) because the Hiding Pooper feels that pooping in public is a highly shameful act.

But I am acutely aware of the fact they are pooping. And I have to think they know that I know they are pooping. I want to say to them, “Let it out – I know you’re pooping so the shame has already been brought. Wouldn’t you rather poop it out and have a happy colon?”.

I mean for god’s sake everybody on earth poops. So much to the point that there are books written about it. There are even reasonably priced over the counter products to make you a better pooper.

In an attempt to break the cycle of shame associated with pooping (and in an effort to alienate every last one of you) I am going to talk about my poop. I am a good pooper. I eat a diet rich in whole grains (several helpings a day) and when you wash that kind of food down with a cup of coffee, you gotta know poop is in the works. And I poop at work. In fact -every single day-because I refuse to wake up in time to give myself the schedule to get a poop in before I leave the house.

I have known some corageous poopers in my time. My husband will purposely hold his till he gets to work because he says it brings him great satisfaction to get paid to poop. My Jini has said that she likes to poop in public restrooms – I don’t know if this still holds true-but it once marked her as really cool in my book.

So I urge all of you to embrace your poop (wear something washable) and the next time you’re squatting in a public restroom, all ready to grow a tail -and some stranger walks in- don’t pinch it off. Let it out. And be proud that you are not one of those people who can’t poop because they are constipated and they have an impacted colon. Because THAT is gross. 

Credits: I got the phrase “grow a tail” from Jini. Just so you know.

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