Poopgate 2008

Yeah yeah, I realize I have been slacker #1 on posting. Seriously. I'm not sure what the deal is, I even think of posts in my head but with each day that goes by I have felt less motivated to write. So it's only natural that it took an event of epic proportions to get me out of hiding. In addition I think I'm going to try to post once a week starting next year...oh yeah, that's tomorrow. Anyhow, enough apologies, on to Poopgate 2008.

So me and the Boy (we'll call him that now as short for 'cowboy') have been seeing each other for a few months now. We've known each other for over a year though, so we were already quite comfortable with each other when we started dating. Anyhoo....if you didn't already know, he lives in another land...a land far far away....a land I like to call The Land of Fruits and Nuts. That's right, California. So over the past few months we have been traveling back and forth fairly often to visit each other. In fact, currently I am sitting on his couch right now....but I felt I must bang out this post now before I forgot even a little detail. Soooo, this time instead of flying into his city, I flew a bit North and we went to meet the parents. I was a little nervous since it wasn't just like dinner or something, we would actually be spending the night there. And ya know, it's just those first time meeting jitters....and you know how my mind tends to go to worst case scenarios. Kinda like I break out with an episode of Turrets and start calling everyone a Fuck Face or spontaneously throw up while we're talking. Ya know, reasonable things like that.

None of those happened...oh no...it was much worse....much MUCH worse. I am feeling nauseous just thinking about it. If you are squeamish, please stop reading now...but you know the curiosity is too much to bear and you're going to keep reading anyway...really, just try to stop. You want to feel my pain and humiliation, don't you.

So as some background, I'm just like most girls, we are afraid to let boys know we poop, or fart, or anything of the sort...ya know, we're delicate little flowers that smell like roses and always have a twinkle in our eye. Yeah, so the first time I visited The Boy I didn't go to the bathroom the ENTIRE time I was there. Seriously. I have bowels of steel. Seems a bit ridiculous, yes, but a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do. Well, this incident blew any sense of decorum out the window.....

So we all go out to dinner. The Boy, his parents, his sister and her boyfriend. We all have a lovely time. We get back to the house and settle in to watch a movie, so I decide to go change into something comfy and go 'to the bathroom'. My neuroses were kicking in and I was thinking I should do a 'test flush' beforehand just to make sure the toilet was in proper working order. Then I decided that I was crazy, his sister had just moved out and I assumed used that bathroom all the time. So I do my business....not a lot of business, mind you (TMI, I know) and I don't even use a lot of toilet paper...ya know, now knowing the plumbing strength or anything. So I get up....and flush....and instead of the water going down LIKE IT SHOULD, it starts rising....and rising....and risingholymotherfucker. I try to find the little valve thing to turn off the water...I couldn't get it to turn. I am watching in horror as the water and other asundry toilet contents rise in the mother effin bowl. I am trying to think as quick as possible. "alright Megan, this is an emergency, what are you going to do!!" I seriously thought about grabbing the contents and throwing them out a window, but decided against it. Nothing like being caught with a fistful of shit in your hands trying desperately to get a window open....I most certainly would not have been invited back.

So the water is rising while I watch in horror, paralyzed and unable to move and rises to about 1.5 cm below the top of the bowl. It stops. I am sweating and praying and trying to find a rosary to pray and swearing to God that I'll be a good girl FOREVER. Since it doesn't appear that it's going to overflow and start running like a flowing poop river down the stairs, I decide my only option at this point it to go get The Boy from downstairs. I call downstairs, "The Boy? Can you please come up her a minute?" I try not to sound panicked, but my voice sounded like a strangulated mouse. He comes up the stairs and I greet him with a look of sheer terror on my face. " HolyshitIjustpoopedbutnotalotandnowthetoiletisoverflowingholyshitwhatdoIdo? BUT DON'T GO IN THERE." He has a calm but amused look on his face and told me to use a plunger. He goes to get me one and I hold it not relaxing my look of terror and tell him that I have never used a plunger before BECAUSE I DON'T POOP BIG AND BECAUSE THE TOILETS IN TEXAS ACTUALLY WORK. He give me an instructional and sends me on the way. I close both doors to the bathroom to put as much barrier between him and the 'situation' as possible and attempt to use that Godforsaken tool. Nothing (not to mention, EW, I'm never touching a plunger even again now that I've seen it in action). The water goes down a little but not all the way. Now what? He tells me to flush. HELL NO, what if it overflows this time? He told me that if it looked like it would to just plunge like crazy. I am hoping to God that sweet baby Jesus sends down the angel of death and gets me out of this place. I pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming...oh wait, I mean having a FUCKING NIGHTMARE.

Anyway, 12 flushes, 4 plunges, 20 Hail Mary's and an Our Father later I am finally in the clear. The Boy find this all amusing, while I'm covered in a cold sweat and thanking the Lord that it at least didn't overflow and that I was able to handle it without intervention. I think the relationship would be over if he or his father had had to take care of the situation. I didn't care if I had to read an entire book on plumping, go buy a whole set of tools and spend the next week in coveralls and knee deep in poop...NOBODY was going in that bathroom.

So we go back downstairs. And it's not like his parents couldn't have guessed what was going on. Either a) Their son and his girlfriend have some sort of toilet flushing fetish or b) Their son's girlfriend's desperate pleas and the subsequent 12 flushes were due to an overflowing toilet. I swear his dad laughed once I sat down. Sigh....

This shit just does not happen to anyone else. I am a walking, talking sitcom/comedy movie.

Please cross your fingers that The Boy doesn't think about this too hard and decides to go for a non-pooping girlfriend. Thnxs.

Oh, and I'm holding it until I get back to a Texas toilet...which is Sunday. Wish me luck.