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!
Friday, February 24, 2017
Friday, February 10, 2017
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?
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?
Friday, February 3, 2017
What's that smell?
If you follow me on Facebook, you know by now that I am seeing a personal trainer and making some pretty significant lifestyle changes. This has been a long time coming. I got lucky and picked up a regular nanny gig a few months ago and have been saving that income to pay for a trainer to show me the way! I hit the jackpot people! I am honestly feeling great, eating delicious food, and hurting the good hurt all over.
I go to the gym 3 days a week. While this isn't my first attempt at going to a gym, this is the first time that I am fully invested in it. So the seriousness scale hits the top. I am trying to do what I can to be successful and to continue making strides forward. Anyway, with this comes some struggles. I workout at 0745 and don't know what to really do about breakfast. I am afraid I will get sick if I eat first. I mean, Crohn's and I don't always get along and I am afraid to bring my new friend, Fitness, into the mix and ultimately wreak havoc on myself. So I workout on an empty stomach. Sometimes, depending on how mean #meanman is, I feel nauseas after and eating anything sounds terrible! So I am trying to decide between a piece of fruit or a protein drink or something like that to have after. To help myself beat the nausea, I am bringing it with me so I can eat before I leave the parking lot. So far, I have yet to eat anything in the parking lot.
A handful of sessions ago I was pretty sure I was going to die in my car. I basically rolled myself out of the gym and in a dazed stupor somehow managed to get into the driver's seat. For an unknown length of time I sat there questioning all my life choices but mostly the reason I got out of bed that day. As you know, I have very little free time, so as I began to come to, I remembered I had a dr appointment that day and had to work shortly after. I rushed home and made some eggs (turns out to be exactly what I need after working out - an egg hash.) then took a shower. Feeling much better I grabbed my backpack, tossed it onto the front seat, and away I went.
A couple days later I was back at the gym. #meanman was much nicer but still appropriately made my muscles shake under pressure and my body sweat in places that I didn't know I had sweat glands. I went home and made my egg hash for breakfast and took a shower. This continued to be the routine. Workout (with minor moaning an complaining), breakfast, shower. Breakfast always first because I need to cool down. Can't take a hot shower with a hot body. If you still sweat after the shower then the shower was pointless. Anyway, let's just say that I have chowed down on my breakfast a few times, while feeling pretty ripe.
So for the last week or so I have noticed an odor in my car. It kinda comes and goes. I began to worry that if I had a passenger in my car that they would pick up on it. I also worried that my gym juices were being left in the fabric of my seat and leaving the stank in my car. But, real talk, I'm not THAT sweaty or THAT stanky. However, to make sure I wasn't sweatier that I perceived, I decided to do the sniff test. I stuck my nose to the back of my seat and smelt 12 year old car seat, not the stank that was permeating my nose. Then the real test, I shoved my face into the seat of the seat, but again just smelt seat. Perplexed, I gave up. I drove around for another day or so. I get into my car after work one night and was slapped in the face with this odor. It was enough to make me gag. It was kinda familiar in scent but also swamp-death-like.
I made it home and it was about midnight. I took a look around for what the smell was and could see nothing. I began to wonder if a rodent or something crawled into my air vent for warmth and died. My car is old and if I roll the windows down they will be stuck. Since it's winter, it's not a gamble I am willing to take. So I am forced to leave my car with the windows up sealing the odor within it. You would think the cold temps would help. My science brain tells me how horrendous this would be in the summer. The odor would be cooking in an oven all day. All I could imagine was a dead rodent rotting away in my air vent as I am blowing the air on full blast on my face!
Anyway, I get up for my nanny gig and head out to the car. The stench gags me. I decide, "F it. If I'm late, then so be it. I can't breath this in anymore!" I drop my back pack on the seat and in the daylight do a full inspection of my car. I begin by opening the hood, prepared to find the dead animal wrapped up in it somewhere. To my surprise, nothing. I sniff around and it just smells enginey. I open the back doors and look around for anything but I only find a few water bottles and a coat. I open my passenger door and look around. Nothing. Then I stuck my head down to look under the seat.....
For the love of all things holy, I think I blacked out! The odor hit my face, permeated my pores, and settled deep into my lungs. I stood up and took in some fresh air. Gathered my bearings and went back to look under the seat. I opened my eyes and there it was. An old rotted banana. Yup the one that I was going to eat the day #meanman tried to kill me. I must have knocked it off with my backpack and forgotten about it. I went inside the house and grabbed a rubber glove, a baggie, carpet cleaner, and a rag. I put the glove on and stuck my arm under the seat. I held my breath and closed my eyes, I grabbed the now black banana and shoved it into the baggie. Keeping it at arms length, I kicked up the trash can, sealed the baggie, and tossed it in. I went back and with my breath held and one eye open I sprayed the cleaner and give it a scrub.
It's been a couple days now and it still smells a monkey puked in my car. I hate that winter makes my car so dirty, but it's a million times worse when the inside smells too. And I am still undecided if working out is the fault of this. I mean, I wouldn't have left a banana on my seat and I wouldn't have been in a daze to forget about it.... Alas, I think I will keep going. Meanwhile, does anyone know how to get banana rot out of floorboards??
I go to the gym 3 days a week. While this isn't my first attempt at going to a gym, this is the first time that I am fully invested in it. So the seriousness scale hits the top. I am trying to do what I can to be successful and to continue making strides forward. Anyway, with this comes some struggles. I workout at 0745 and don't know what to really do about breakfast. I am afraid I will get sick if I eat first. I mean, Crohn's and I don't always get along and I am afraid to bring my new friend, Fitness, into the mix and ultimately wreak havoc on myself. So I workout on an empty stomach. Sometimes, depending on how mean #meanman is, I feel nauseas after and eating anything sounds terrible! So I am trying to decide between a piece of fruit or a protein drink or something like that to have after. To help myself beat the nausea, I am bringing it with me so I can eat before I leave the parking lot. So far, I have yet to eat anything in the parking lot.
A handful of sessions ago I was pretty sure I was going to die in my car. I basically rolled myself out of the gym and in a dazed stupor somehow managed to get into the driver's seat. For an unknown length of time I sat there questioning all my life choices but mostly the reason I got out of bed that day. As you know, I have very little free time, so as I began to come to, I remembered I had a dr appointment that day and had to work shortly after. I rushed home and made some eggs (turns out to be exactly what I need after working out - an egg hash.) then took a shower. Feeling much better I grabbed my backpack, tossed it onto the front seat, and away I went.
A couple days later I was back at the gym. #meanman was much nicer but still appropriately made my muscles shake under pressure and my body sweat in places that I didn't know I had sweat glands. I went home and made my egg hash for breakfast and took a shower. This continued to be the routine. Workout (with minor moaning an complaining), breakfast, shower. Breakfast always first because I need to cool down. Can't take a hot shower with a hot body. If you still sweat after the shower then the shower was pointless. Anyway, let's just say that I have chowed down on my breakfast a few times, while feeling pretty ripe.
So for the last week or so I have noticed an odor in my car. It kinda comes and goes. I began to worry that if I had a passenger in my car that they would pick up on it. I also worried that my gym juices were being left in the fabric of my seat and leaving the stank in my car. But, real talk, I'm not THAT sweaty or THAT stanky. However, to make sure I wasn't sweatier that I perceived, I decided to do the sniff test. I stuck my nose to the back of my seat and smelt 12 year old car seat, not the stank that was permeating my nose. Then the real test, I shoved my face into the seat of the seat, but again just smelt seat. Perplexed, I gave up. I drove around for another day or so. I get into my car after work one night and was slapped in the face with this odor. It was enough to make me gag. It was kinda familiar in scent but also swamp-death-like.
I made it home and it was about midnight. I took a look around for what the smell was and could see nothing. I began to wonder if a rodent or something crawled into my air vent for warmth and died. My car is old and if I roll the windows down they will be stuck. Since it's winter, it's not a gamble I am willing to take. So I am forced to leave my car with the windows up sealing the odor within it. You would think the cold temps would help. My science brain tells me how horrendous this would be in the summer. The odor would be cooking in an oven all day. All I could imagine was a dead rodent rotting away in my air vent as I am blowing the air on full blast on my face!
Anyway, I get up for my nanny gig and head out to the car. The stench gags me. I decide, "F it. If I'm late, then so be it. I can't breath this in anymore!" I drop my back pack on the seat and in the daylight do a full inspection of my car. I begin by opening the hood, prepared to find the dead animal wrapped up in it somewhere. To my surprise, nothing. I sniff around and it just smells enginey. I open the back doors and look around for anything but I only find a few water bottles and a coat. I open my passenger door and look around. Nothing. Then I stuck my head down to look under the seat.....
For the love of all things holy, I think I blacked out! The odor hit my face, permeated my pores, and settled deep into my lungs. I stood up and took in some fresh air. Gathered my bearings and went back to look under the seat. I opened my eyes and there it was. An old rotted banana. Yup the one that I was going to eat the day #meanman tried to kill me. I must have knocked it off with my backpack and forgotten about it. I went inside the house and grabbed a rubber glove, a baggie, carpet cleaner, and a rag. I put the glove on and stuck my arm under the seat. I held my breath and closed my eyes, I grabbed the now black banana and shoved it into the baggie. Keeping it at arms length, I kicked up the trash can, sealed the baggie, and tossed it in. I went back and with my breath held and one eye open I sprayed the cleaner and give it a scrub.
It's been a couple days now and it still smells a monkey puked in my car. I hate that winter makes my car so dirty, but it's a million times worse when the inside smells too. And I am still undecided if working out is the fault of this. I mean, I wouldn't have left a banana on my seat and I wouldn't have been in a daze to forget about it.... Alas, I think I will keep going. Meanwhile, does anyone know how to get banana rot out of floorboards??
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