Sunday, December 20, 2009

Snowstorms and Shitstories

We're pretty much in The Frozen Tundra of Doom, and I did the unthinkable.

I was planning on doing the shopping and the laundry on Friday, but my son woke up with a fever, so... I didn't. I didn't know. About the weather. Because I'm a dolt, and I avoid the news. -So we got snowed the fuck in, for real-real not for play-play, with very little in the house. Which makes me feel terrible. I'm Mom, ya know?!

It wasn't until yesterday afternoon, however, that I realized the depth of my failure.

I was cleaning up the bathroom, and found that there was but one roll of TP, and I was about to put it on the spool.

At first this just made me think of Charles Bukowski. He keeps it real. In the bathroom department.

I also got myself snowed in with absolutely no Midol.

It's the worst blizzard ever, you guys.

I woke up at 4a.m., and I was dying. I took three Excedrin and just kept dying. And panicking about TP. And coffee creamer. I'm really good at fretting. Grama would be so proud. -And that's when I started laughing hysterically.

I was downstairs by then, having a smoke and enjoying an As Seen On TV! commercial for The Bumpit, (I want to Bumpit, just to be a freak, but I don't live on Saturday Night Live, so it seems like a bad idea.) when The Memories of Blizzards Past came to visit, and brought with them The Shitstories.

And I love Shitstories. According to Grama, I am a Pollock for this reason. Despite the fact that we're Scottish. I discovered this when she meticulously filled in a few forms for the Census Bureau, no shit.

ANYWAY, I think I know where this TP Anxiety comes from. You see, I grew up in a great big house with one bathroom and 10 asses. The most important ass in the kingdom belonged to my Dad, and he was a champion shitter, and one of the great bathroom readers of our time. The bathroom was conveniently located off the kitchen, which was acoustically magnificent, and a great source of entertainment for diners.

Because... While you couldn't really eat an apple in my house because we weren't aloud to chew that loudly, my Father would get nuclear in the bathroom while we ate breakfast, and never give it a thought.

And I'm a Pollock, so I would sometimes just start laughing, gasping, wheezing, and he would cuss me out through the door, while setting off M-80s, which only made me laugh harder...

And sometimes, he'd be cussing me out and realize he was out of toilet paper, and his tone would suddenly change and become friendly. Which was, of course, hilarious. "Okay, okay, get ahold of yourself." he would say, and then, "Ummmmm... We're out of paper in here. Ummmmm... Yer gonna have to run to the store."

So, in my early teens, I would run across the street, through the field and the parking lot, and into the store, grab a giant pack of TP, and go to the register wishing I wasn't about to get waited on by this adorable guy, with this giant, family sized, industrial strength toilet paper. We plan on shitting. A lot!

And if it was snowing outside when he realized he was out? I'd better grab two packs. Ya hear about the snow? Yeah. It's enchilada night- bad combo!

And this one time, he'd been in there for about four hours, he had cussed three of us out because we had to pee... In a four hour period. He was in there blowin' it out, yelling at us... I heard a growl at least once *shiver*, giving orders from the thrown, and then he realized some things.

"Ummmm. Yer gonna have to run to the store. Get some money from yer Mom."

"I got it."

"No, you gotta get the TP and some Preperation H."


See. That's just wrong.

So I went out today- the roads are FUCKED UP, but I made it, and I stocked us up but good, and I bought two giant packs of TP- because it's Enchilada Night and we plan on shitting a lot, and when I put them on the belt I almost choked trying to stifle myself. When I got home, My Dude helped me unload, and I saw him trying not to laugh when he saw this. He didn't know about The Shitstories, he only knew that I was chastising myself for letting it go down that way.

"Did I ever tell you my Dad was an Epic Shitter?" I asked.


"Oh, he was like the J.R.R. Tolkien of Shitting." he looked at me funny.

"We ran out every time there was a weather situation, and I used to play Beat the Blizzard/Hurricane/Monsoon while he was stuck in the can."


"This isn't normal, is it?"

"I don't think it is, no."