If the curiosity is killing you, however, please do read on.
First, I'd like to mention that I had the day off yesterday, so naturally, today felt like Monday. I got up (late, as usual), showered, brushed my teeth and went about my morning routine. I stopped at the 7-11 near my home, and picked up a 20oz coffee and two bottles of Dr. Pepper, as usual. Paid with my check card, as usual.
Mmm. Delish.
I drove to work, listened to Elliot in the Morning on DC 101, as usual. Got to work, and got settled in, which consists of checking my work email, checking my personal email, checking in on The Nest, checking Facebook, and reading the new blogs that appear on my Google Reader (and commenting accordingly)... all while sipping my delicious 20oz cup of sugar, with a little coffee and creamer added. Totes usual.
And as usual, about 20 minutes after I finished my coffee, I felt the rumblings. The monster rumblings of my daily morning bowels. This is part of my daily routine. I drink my coffee, and then I poop, and then I'm ready to take on the day that is upon me and make it my bitch.
Yep. I own this book.
Something about these rumblings was not normal. I didn't have the strength in my abs to let it "marinate" like I usually do. I like to let it simmer for a bit before I actually go to the restroom, so that it involves the least amount of pushing as possible. I told you, I have a routine, and damnit, I stick to it! This demon inside of me would not allow for the marinating period. I had to rush to the bathroom to do the binness.
As I sit on the toilet (I should also mention that I work in a very small office, consisting of a total of 5 people, including myself, and we only have one bathroom), I could tell that this was not going to be the usual "sit, relax, wipe" session that I have on a daily basis. What erupted from my body was the fiery passion that once was an entire bag of pistachios that I consumed over the long weekend. It burned. It splattered. Most importantly, it was NOT quiet, which is totally NOT usual.
Now, if you know me, you know I'm not shy about my bowels (obviously). But this was an ASSplosion. I was imagining my poor coworker in the office outside the bathroom cringing (and possibly laughing) as the demon escaped my rear end. It was nuclear. I tried to be quiet about it, I really did. I tried to let just a little out at a time, I tried running the sink water to mask the sound... it just was NOT happening.
THIS is what occurred in my workplace toilet.
Finally, I'm done. I wipe, wash my hands, open the window, spray a copious amount of flowery smelling Lysol, and I leave the bathroom... making sure to shut the door behind me. I even considered making a sign, warning coworkers not to enter the bathroom for at LEAST 20 minutes. I'm telling you - that shit was hazardous.
And as usual, I walk outside to have my post-bowel cigarette. I'm puffing away, enjoying the beautiful weather that has recently graced itself upon Maryland, and it hit me again. Those fucking rumblings. I thought "eh, I just went... there's no way I have to go again ALREADY," and I attempted to finish my nicotine stick. Was.Not.Happening. I flicked the cherry off my cigarette and sprinted to the bathroom. (Insert another descriptive ASSplosion here).
This inconvenience happened to me FOUR times today. FOUR TIMES! I couldn't believe it. I'm a pretty regular shitter, and I go usually about two times a day. And those two times are NORMAL, not the painful diarrhea I experienced FOUR TIMES today. I know it's the pistachios and all their deliciousness.
Mmm. Come here, my pretties.
I should probably mention that I consume an ungodly amount of pistachios if I get my hands on them. I generally buy two bags at a time, and finish a bag in a matter of days. I eat about a 16oz cup worth of shells at each sitting... unless my mouth burns from the salt before the cup is full. I'd like to say that my hellish poops today will caution me from devouring pistachios in the future, but I know it won't.
Perhaps I should take after LiLu and start a weekly TMI post. TMI Tuesdays? I guess it fits.
... that's what she said.
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