Don’t Goose Me!

        So yesterday I was out getting my fitness on.  I decided to head out to Terry Trueblood to walk the paved perimeter.  My body was super sore from some recent workouts and the sidewalks in my neighborhood aren’t well maintained, so I wanted the fairly flat and wide walkway out at TT.  I had a really busy week and it seemed that any “free” time I had was screwed by the weather.  So I decided that Saturday morning I would schedule some “me time” and get some MEPs earned on my MyZone (points earned for concentrated physical activity using a fitness tracker I wear on a belt around my chest). Because I live in Iowa, it was only natural that I woke up, got ready, drove out to TT, and it began to rain.  I had other things I needed to do so I killed that time running errands in my suuuuper attractive active wear.  Eventually the rain let up a bit and I headed out.  It wasn’t gonna clear totally but a little rain never hurt anyone.

        So there I was on the paved trail minding my own business.  I was soaked and cold.  One foot landed in a puddle and was squishing with each step.  My MyZone was beeping on and off and the cold rain soaked my right side.  Enough rain had trickled down my shirt and made my bra wet and slightly uncomfortable.  But that was my “me time” and I wanted to be out there so bad so I was suckin it up buttercup and workin with it.  I had my headphones in listening to 1990’s gansta rap and desperately trying not to bust a move.  I kept my focus ahead of me cause I knew as I would round the corner I would hit 4 miles.  I was shooting for 6.  Missy Elliot and I were rap duetting “Get Ur Freak On” when I heard honking.  I had only seen a couple other people on the trail and mostly ignored it. Just as I was singing along, “Hollaaaaaaaa,” I suddenly felt something hit my leg.  I glanced back to see what it was.  IT WAS A FREAKIN GOOSE.  And on his tail were two more.  They were honkin and squawkin and flappin their giant wings while they were charging at me!  So I did the same thing all of you would have done - I screamed like a girl and ran!

        I was feeling pretty tired at almost 4 miles so my run was much more desperate than it was effective and I realized something - I don’t run.  I used to, but that was a really long time ago.  I can’t run with any speed and these birds were gaining.  They have these long ass necks, so that jerk in the front actually made contact a couple of times.  There I was, out minding my own damn business, on the paved trail, not in the water and not in their soggy grass, and these jokers were out to put a little “git-up” in my step.  And for the record these are no ankle biters either.  They are HUGE, so when he came at me with his long neck ,he was going for meat! At calf level.  I was out there workin on my fitness and trying to gain new muscle, and this dirty bastard was trying to eat it!  Not today, goosy goose, not today!

        I turned onto a part of the trail that had trees on both sides and ran into the winter stricken trees on the right.  I could hear those jackholes still honkin at me.  My heart was racing and my breath was tight.  I spotted a stick that was a good two feet long and grabbed that as my weapon.  I turned around and it was like they recognized the Stick of Doom.  They stopped.  Realizing the power I then possessed, I began to wave the stick around in a threatening manner.  I stepped forward and Mr. Hot Shot starts honking again.  His sidekicks have headed back to where we first met.  So I stop dead in my tracks.  The rain was dripping down my face and I was mouth breathing - heavily.  The meany head goose was just staring me down.  This is where I weigh out my options.  1 - I face this foul and get back to my car that is nearby and leave.  2 - Stand there and scream til someone finds me.  3 - Play dead.  (Which probably turns to real death.  Cause let’s be real - I come from sunny SoCal.  I don’t do nature and this dude wants to eat me.)  Number 4, and my last option, was to Facebook Live the encounter for at least two reasons; video proof of any further action being self defense, and the hope that someone local is on FB and can go save me!  While FB Live sounded like a good option, I chose to pull up my big girl panties and face the fear.

        So, with a firm grip on the stick, I moved forward.  Slow and steady.  I hear my MyZone triple beep indicating that I haven’t moved in 15 seconds.  Yeah, thanks, MyZone.  Let’s see you go out there and run for your life, and then just keep pace and move along being all fitness and such.  Ugh.  I kept moving forward and the goose stood his ground.  I pointed the stick lower and held my arm straight out trying to keep as much distance between the two of us as possible.  I was so tired at that point that if I needed to run for my life again, it was likely not gonna happen.  I would have to lay there and accept fate. But I kept moving and he started honking and striking at my stick.  I holler out “NO! You stop that!”  Spoiler Alert - that doesn’t work.  He continued honking and I just decided to get out of there and get past him.  But to keep my eye on him I needed to start walking backwards.  Which meant my back was to the sidekicks. I am taking small steps, keeping a close eye on the big guy.  He kept close to me as he would step forward with each of my steps back.  I was out of the tree lined area and approaching the lot with my car when I hear a honk very near to me.  (I may or may not have jumped 12 feet into the air.) I look to my left and there is another one!  I switch my stick to his direction and just as I do the big one flaps his wings and he runs RUNS towards me!

        Are you flippin kidding me?!  I just want to get my MEPs in and was not interested in a wild goose chase.  But there I was forced into it.  I scream and throw the stick his way.  I turned my sore ass body towards my car and ran for it.  As I was running, I was also trying to get my car key out of the key pocket on the waistband of my pants.  Let me tell you something - those key pockets are awesome!  They provide the perfect spot for your key while you are fitnessing.  You don’t feel it and it’s still there when you are done.  But clothing designers did not take into account the removal of the key while running for your life in a wild goose chase!  It’s nearly impossible.  So, I am near death but also near my car.  I have heard my milage tracker interrupt my gansta rap and I have officially hit 4 miles.  So victory! Yay!  But there are still geese on my tail.  I get to my car and round to the opposite side hoping to use it as a shield.  I pop my head up.  I am fully ready to jump onto the hood and hope that there will be safety in the added height.  (Yes, I do realize they are birds and height ain’t no thang for them, but I was grasping at anything and everything - it’s called survival!)

        Anyway, I look up over the hood of my car and guess what I see?



        Come on - guess!





        NOTHING!  At some point they gave up the chase and let me go.  I ran for my life and if anyone saw it they surly had to wonder what was wrong with me.  I can see waaaaaaaaay back that the geese were all back in the soggy grass.  Probably laughing with each other and loading their videos to YouTube.  I stood there catching my breath and calmly reaching for my key.  I then decided that I understand why people hunt these jerks.  And as much as I could never do it, I say - hunt them!  They are natures bullies!  And with a quick google search you will find that they have teeth on their tongues!!! WTF?!

        I like going out to Terry Trueblood and will still go in the future.  I will be a little more alert for sure.  I also think I am gonna have to work on my running.  Ha!  It’s amazing the motivation that fear brings and the way adrenaline can move your body in ways it doesn’t typically move.  Oh, my life.  Here are some pictures to show you exactly what my Saturday looked like.  Just imagine it rainy and cold...

Happy Valentine’s Day

        If you follow along on my blog, then you know that I live in the glory (if we can call it that) of chronic single-hood.  So naturally as February 14th rolls around there are ZERO romantic plans.  Unless you call Facebook stalking people you hate and eating mini corn dogs romantic. Kidding.  I actually do make plans.  My cousin, Marissa, and I go out together each year that both of us are single.  We are like 8 years strong, minus that one year, the Year of Keith, when he took me to Orchard Green.  Anyway, we like to take advantage of the “couple specials" and take ourselves out for a nice night.  We dress up a little and buy the good drinks and eat the fancy foods.  We evaluated a few options for this year but ultimately we settled in on one of our favorite places, Red’s.  We like dark beers, porters, stouts, wines, mixers, and rum.  Red’s has all of that and a menu that is not typical pub food.  so when we saw their special advertised, we went for it.

        Marissa called ahead and put us on the list as we anticipated a packed joint.  To my surprise, it was pleasantly quiet and parking was plentiful.  We sat at a table bar-side and started with a drink.  (First drink, other than water and an occasional milk, that I have had in a month.)  As we sat there discussing the special vs the menu options, we took note of a boisterous lady with two men who’s hot fresh food just sat in front of her.  She was the friendly “regular” type that seemed to know everyone and talked to them all.  She mingled the restaurant.  Including a couple attempts to talk to us.  We  watched other couples come in and still others go.  The wait staff was working hard and running around all over.  They were doing a fantastic job of helping each other out and making sure everyone was served and happy.  At some point in the night we also took note of an older woman sitting in the booth to the corner of us.  With dramatic, uncoordinated movements she scooted herself to the edge of the booth’s seat.  We had told each other how wasted she seemed.  Watched her attempt to stand.  She never was able to get a foot flat on the floor and her butt up off the booth at the same time.   Eventually her food came and we agreed that she needed to sit and eat to soak up whatever she had to drink.

        We sat there continuing our conversation about whatever it was we talked about, while desperately trying to not watch the wasted woman.  But much like watching a train wreck, this train was barreling through, horn honking and lights flashing!  She used two hands to pick up a piece of her flatbread, and rather than moving the pizza to her mouth, she held it away and attempted to bring her mouth to it.  Of course as she moved forward with her head, her hands moved forward too, moving the pizza.  So the pizza was essentially always the same distance away.  Eventaully she giraffed it.  She stuck her tongue out as far as she could and wiggled it til she made contact.

         Marissa and I continued our fancy meal.  We took occasional glances over to the wasted woman.  Watched her sloppily shove the pizza into her mouth and sway in a circular motion with her upper body.  Watched the man she was with dance his way back from the restroom in an attempt to hide his own inebriation.  Watched the people around us notice them.  And ultimately, watched them leave.

        But let me tell you about that...

        So, wasted woman once again scoots herself to the edge of the booth.  Wasted man does as well.  While she concentrates heavily on the movement of her feet touching the ground in front of her, wasted man stands up.  I can see his feet planted firmly and his had holding his steady on the edge of the table.  I watch wasted woman lift her butt off the seat of the booth and wasted man reach to catch her.  She falls back into the booth and I see liquid dripping off the seat.  Naturally I assume in the stubble to stand she has hit a drink and spilled it on the seat.  As I am processing what I am watching, she stands.  This is it guys, this is where the whole night became the most epic night at Red's ever.

        She turns around, to get her sweater or purse or something, and I see a darkish spot covering the seat of her pants.  Could it be the drink she spilled moments earlier?  No, not likely, it's a pretty centered spot.  Which, by the way, is still dripping.  Like I can see it's a pretty soaked area.  It dawns on me and I turn to Marissa and shockingly whisper to her, "Oh. My. God.  She pissed herself."  Now we are both watching as we are trying to decide that our observation is in fact true.  Meanwhile, boisterous lady is saying her good-byes and is trying to get us to agree to join her for drinks at J&A (dive bar across the street).  We draw our attention back to Mr. & Mrs. Totally Slammed, and watch and he tries to support her and they walk out in a drunken cluster.  We decide that the restaurant needs to be aware of the bodily fluids pooled on that seat, well, and dripping to the floor.  So Marissa gets up and tells the nearest waiter about what just happened.

        Waiter dude jumps into action to get the area cleaned ASAP.  He has also now notified management who promptly followed the couple out the door.  They were aware that they were loaded but didn't realize it was to that extent.  So, as waiter dude is at the table with gloves on and his spray bottle and rag in hand, one of the booths against the window has caught on to the commotion and sees the manager out the door with the couple.  This is when she falls.  She on the ramp outside and wasted man and manager are trying to help her up.  Cell phones are out and more attention is being drawn to the unfolding situation.  I see waiter dude gagging.  This confirms my suspicions that it was in fact bodily fluids and not a spilled drink.  Waiter dude heads to the kitchen and returns with more rags and a different spray, and a makeshift facemask made of a rag.  He continues to tackle the job as sweet hostess girl sprays the area with room deodorizer. 

        Manager guy comes in while another manager dude is outside now babysitting the couple.  They are sitting on the outside bench.  The booth against the window is still speculating what the story is while they keep their phones handy for any viral gold.  Manager guy checks on waiter dude who signals him over to our table.  At this point, we know the situation as been handled and we were doing our best to not make any more of a scene.  We had our check split and were just waiting for our waitress to come collect.  Manager guy apologizes for what went down and assured us they were aware of the inebriation.  He thanked us for letting them know and told us that he was covering our Valentine's dinner.  While it was not necessary, he insisted.  So all our food and drinks ended up being purchased by a guy, after all.  (Just let our single selves enjoy that.) 

        Marissa had already planned to gift some random women with a pair of her fancy schmancy LuLaRoe Valentine leggings.  So after having our meal covered (which by the way was SO good!), we decided to give the leggings out to the ladies there dining in the restaurant.  It felt so good to continue to pass on the good vibes after manager guy was so nice.  Then we walked out of the restaurant....

        Waiter dude had just finished cleaning the table up and said good bye as we headed out the door.  We walked in to the foyer past the manager office and manager guy thanked us again.  The rest of the babysitting crew was just inside the foyer watching the couple through the windowed doors.  They had called a cab or a cop or something to come deal with them.  So the couple was forced to just sit and wait.  We say good night and walk out the door.  BAM!  It hit me in the face like hot momma just caught her man cheating.  Friends, wasted woman did not piss her pants.  It was not a urine soaked booth.  This was a whole new level.  This was blog worthy.  This was crazy. This was actually happening.  She. Shat. Her. Pants.  SHE SHAT HER PANTS!  You read that right.  This was no regular mud butt either.  This was alcohol squirts!  Brown liquefied matter from the anus of a plastered woman was in a pool on the ramp where she fell and in a dripping puddle beneath the bench which was holding her up.  The smell that filled the outside air was burning the skin on my face and curling the hairs of my nose.  My stomach turned and we walked quickly past the bench and attempted to get down wind.  I'm telling you it smelt like it burned and she was drunk enough to not give a shit.  (Except for that literal one.)  I was forced to take a breath to scurry past her.  But there was no way to avoid sucking in the fumes of her butt juice.  So I literally held her butt fumes in my lungs long enough to force it out when I got to my car. 

        Marissa and I have been on lots of "dates" together, but I can honestly say that was probably one of the most memorable.  We laughed throughout our meal and when we got to our cars.  I think neither of us still can believe it happened.  I mean, I realize that accidents happen.  But it's a whole new experience in my life to witness a grown woman (who, by the way, was only there for about an hour) shit her pants.  Liquid shit her pants.  I can't imagine how drunk you'd need to be to mange that.  I know I have never been that far gone.  I sure wish I could have been around for the next day.  Like does she even remember that night??  Did it end there?  Is this a regular drunk experience for her?

        Oh man.  Seriously, friends, if you plan to drink beyond the threshold of conscious ability, wear a diaper.  Better yet, stay home.  Don't be the subject of a blog.  Otherwise, (clean) bottoms up!

So This Happened....

        I have started a new adventure.  I am a distributor for SeneGence.  Basically it's makeup.  Well, skin care and makeup.  But the lip stick!  Oh my, the lipstick!  What a dream!  Anyway, I am super pumped and I have a little party coming up so I am trying to get everything ready and trying to think of everything I might want or need.  I haven't been to a demonstration or party for this before so I am flying by the seat of my pants.  In that, I am trying to be mindful of cost.  Starting up a business with on hand inventory is not cheap.  So that is leaving me to be creative with the my wants and needs.  Literally.  I so I found myself in Michael's.  (Crafty craft bonanza for you dull folks). 

        I am wondering the isles looking for ideas.  When that familiar sensation hits me.  I've gotta pee.  I went from no pee to I have to pee now or we are going to have a situation on our hands, in like seconds.  I've never peed at Michaels and didn't even know if they had a restroom there.  So I wonder up to the front and I ask the guy if they have one.  With little words he points his finger to the back of the store.  There is a HUGE sign that says "Bathrooms."  Oh, of course.  I make my way down there and walk into a hallway that is typical of that type of business, outdated break room, storage room, non-working water fountain, and to the left - the ladies room.  I open the door.  The musty public bathroom air hits my face.  I begin to survey my surroundings.  Much like a cave, the floor is wet, the sink is dripping, the lights kinda flicker.  Exactly the kind of restroom that would be available when my bladder is spasming.  I can see the sign on the door that says "We pride ourselves in our restrooms.  Please let someone know if our restrooms need attention."  I can also see the timeline grid that should be signed off every few hours or so.  It has no signatures since 2 days ago.  Perfect. 

       There are only two stalls.  A "standard" (read - miniature) and a handicap.  I gently kick open the standard door and see a paper filled toilet and move on to the handicap stall.  I see another paper filled toilet but dutifully decorated with urine splatter on the seat.  No thanks.  Being in the restroom had already doubled my bladder capacity and there's no room at the inn.  I have to fix this.  Now.  So I head back to the standard stall and flush it.  Twice.  Just kidding.  Three times.  The water pressure there sucks and things weren't going down smoothly.  If you read my bathroom blog, no need to explain the remaining process here.  Meanwhile, a mom and a child have walked in.  I hear the child scream that there is poo in that paper filled toilet.  (I didn't get that close to see that! Puke!)  The mom is hollering back "It's ok.  Someone wasn't brave enough to flush it.  Just flush it and go!"  She also announced that she will be just out the restrooms looking at the baskets. 

       So, I'm sitting/hovered over the toilet and could hear the wincing of the child as he was seemingly cleaning up the mess.  (No, I was not feeling even a little bit bad that I left that dirty stall for the next guy - which happened to be a kid.  He was certainly braver than I!)  I am just about done and prepared to wipe when I hear a frantic, "oh no, oh no, oh no!"  I pause.  "Stop, stop, stop," he silently screams in desperation.  And as I sit there balanced over the seat, calves burning, holding the wadded paper in my hand, I look down and see the stream of poo water comin at me.  I hear the boy frantically opening the stall door and his little feet running for the main door, screaming for his mom.  I have jumped up and about plastered myself on the side of the stall (and if you read the bathroom blog you know I am as close to death in that moment than just about ever!).  I do the only thing I could think of as the water was coming like someone just opened the dam, and just up onto the toilet seat.  In that standing position, I wipe and pull up my pants.  Now what the F am I supposed to do???

        I hear the door open and hear a gasp and "Oh my god!"  The mother of the boy has returned.  I call out, "Hello?"  At which point I heard the door close.  Great.  The drain on the floor between the stalls is not keeping up with the flow of the poo water.  There is debris circling it.  Half dissolved TP and particles of what I can only assume is poo.  My gag reflex is hitting hard as I try to compose myself.  Never in my life have I wished for wings more than this moment.  I can hear the toilet next to me bubbling.  This is not good.  Not good at all.  I am afraid to flush the one I am standing on in fear of having no place left to go if this one also becomes a volcano of a poo irruption. 

        A male employee opens the door.  I hear him holler in, "anyone in here?"  "Yes!"  I scream out.  I told him I was standing on the toilet in the small stall.  "We are going to need you to come out.  This bathroom is out of service."  No shit Sherlock.  What was your first clue?  The water pouring from the toilet next to me?  The smell of human waste mixed with my tears of fear?  Or the small child that ran screaming for his life from this dungeon of doom?  I tell the man that I am standing on the toilet and there is poo water on the floor, how was I supposed to get out?  He actually says, "I guess, swim."  I was not LOLing.  This is not the time for jokes, buster.  I muster out a "haha" and he says that he is sorry but they only have one mop.  This too big a job for a mop.  I look down at the poo water and visualize my fate.  I have to get out of here.

        I am so freaking out a little bit.  I am a city girl.  I don't do this kind of gross.  Working in healthcare I can see the microbes floating around the water.  There was C-diff, and I saw Noro pass by a moment ago, pretty sure that's E coli and that's definitely hepatitis over there.  But I have to get out of here.  I build up some courage and first bend over the cesspool landing my hands against the door.  My torso and face are directly facing the water of death, if I drop my hands (or if the toilet seat shifts), I'm going in.  I "walk" my hands down the door to the lock and unlock the door.  I walk my hands back up the door and push off and land a standing position.  This is where my fitness training has really come in handy, my stellar core strength kept me on top of that toilet seat!  Now I have to get from the toilet seat to the door, from the door to my car, and from my car to the shower. 

        I take a few breaths and close my eyes.  Don't know why, probably to just imagine not being there.  And survey the floor for the lowest water level within reach.  An audible "fuck" leaves my lips and I go for it.  I stretch as far as I could and step a toe into the water.  I can feel the cold liquid enter the holes of my breathable sports shoes and settle into the fibers of my socks.  As quickly as I can feel that happening I have launched off the toilet seat with my other foot and fling myself against wall straight ahead but out of the stall.  That foot also feels the cold cesspool creeping in.  I hop to the side and out the door to dry land.  There was no way I was going to wade in the shallow end to wash my hands today!  Outside the door stand the male employee with a hand written sign for the door and a yellow wet floor sign.  I'm not very amused.  In fact, my feet are wet.  Not just any kind of wet, POO WATER WET!  I don't think I was even able to nice smile at him.  I just kept walking.  My cart with my crafty crafts was just outside the restroom.  I looked at it and just kept walking. I walked straight to my car. 

        I got there and took off my sweater and tossed it onto the seat.  I grabbed a plastic grocery bag that happened to be in my car with a return in it. I took the stuff out and put it on my back seat.  I then sat on the edge of my car seat and proceeded to take off my shoes in "feels like" temp of like 15.  I put my shoes and my socks in the plastic bag and tied it shut.  I tossed it on the floor board and then used the hand sanitizer in my console to "wash" my hands and my feet.  I drove home barefoot.  I got home and grabbed the poo water shoe bag and walked barefoot in the freezing ass cold into the house.  I went straight to the laundry room and tossed the poo water shoes and socks into the washer.  Then went upstairs and took the most glorious shower of 2017.

        Look, do the public a favor - if you are in a restroom, make sure the toilet flushed behind you.  If it didn't, let a reputable (that's important cause many people don't give a shit about their jobs) employee know that their toilet isn't flush properly.  I don't care if you lie and say you found it that way, just tell someone.    No one wants to navigate through your poo water to safety. 

        Meanwhile, I am waiting for the onset of symptoms of giardia or tapeworms.  I'll be sure to keep you updated.  And when you come to my funeral, I want everyone to wear their ugly Christmas if it's cold and crazy glasses if it's not.  Ok?