ROTFLAPIMP

So.... you all know what my biggest fear is, right?  Like what would be my most embarrassing moment.  If you've been following this blog, you should know.  If not......

It's shitting myself in public.  Like sharting or diarrhea.  I have all these digestive/bowel issues which seem to be IBS.  Even though I think IBS is a name they came up with for varying digestive issues that couldn't fit into a specific diagnosis.  You know, I've been taking probiotics, and let's just say that I've had to ease off on those because, well... they are having the reverse effect now...

Anyhoo, that is neither here, nor at work.  I guess I'm just self centered and I need to talk about myself before I talk about someone else.

So, do you want to hear the very embarrassing moment my coworker had today?

Oh, no.  Ok.  I guess I will stop here then.




Ha ha ha.  You wish.  But, I have to tell this story.  So, as you know, because you follow this blog, Sundays are horrible for me.  Ok, that's an exaggeration.  Sunday is my most unfavorite day of work.  It's long and grueling and I have to work in cramped close quarters with my two male coworkers, who give me about 3 square feet of space on the hot line.

So, anyway, when we had a break in the tickets, the one of them, let's call him Fish Drop, because he dropped the last piece of salmon the other day, had to go to the bathroom.  He was gone for a little while.  When he came back, the other cook, Air Jordan (he has this like Air Jordan tattoo on his arm), asked if he had gone to smoke, because Air Jordan wanted his smoke break.  Fish Drop told him that he didn't get a chance to smoke because he had to take a shit, which he had said he had to take since 9 am.

Fast forward to, oh, maybe an hour later.  So, Fish Drop walks by me, and I see something flapping from the back of his pants.  It was like 8 inches long.  I thought it was a kitchen towel, but it was too flimsy.  Then I thought it was paper towel, because the FP sometimes puts paper towels in his back pants pocket.  See, cooks hold towels folded over their apron strings, so the FP, in lieu of apron strings will stick a paper towel back there when like cleaning or something.  Yeah, it's kind of weird.

But getting back to Fish Drop, and the thing in his back of his pants.  You know where I'm going with this.  So, I was looking at it to figure what it was.  And then I did.  So, I took a split second to not laugh but figure out how to tell him.  So I said, put your hand on your pants...on the back of your pants.  So he grabbed the toilet paper hanging out of his pants and looked at it and looked at me and grabbed it and stuffed it into the slim jim garbage can next to him.  Right as that happened I started laughing hysterically.  And right as I started laughing hysterically, our chef turned the corner and asked what's so funny.  I just looked at him and continued my involuntary convulsive giggles.  Fish Drop just said, oh nothing.  I guess I looked at the garbage or Chef saw Fish Drop throw the toilet paper in the garbage, because Chef went over to the garbage can to look in.

He saw the toilet paper and he began to crack up too.  The two of us were like giggling fools.  I was laughing so hard my face hurt.  Fish Drop's explanation was that he had gone to the bathroom a half an hour ago (but I'm pretty sure it was longer than that).  I don't know how no one had noticed that whole time.  His pants tend to fall, so he probably had them pulled up, and then as they slowly fell the TP came out of his bung hole.  I'm glad I didn't see the TP in the garbage.  Because there had to be shit on it, right?!

Even now, as I sit on the couch alone, with the Steeler game on, and the FP already in bed.  I chuckle to myself.

And my butt feels tingly.     

EWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm sorry I am so distracted.

The Fuzz's poo smells so horrible that it makes me gag.  I mean it's disgusting.

So, the FP and I were on the couch.  Rudy was on the floor by the couch snoozing.  And I hear scratching in the litter box.  And Rudy hears it too.  But the FP was asleep.

And then the stink.  And then the horrible stench.

Here's the horrible part.  I felt like I was going to throw up.  I mean really spew chunks.
And of course, it excited Pavlov's Dog.  He perked up and got up.  The Fuzz ran out of the litter box.  Rudy was headed for the litter box.  But, I cut him off and scooped the poop.  Even with covering it up it still was just a smell that you expect to find at the garbage dump.  Dump being the operative word.

So, yeah.  Cute fuzzy animal = big horrible stink.

Office Visits

So, we took Stinksy to his cardiologist appointment on Friday.  I've never been to a cardiologist, but my cat has.  So, it was confirmed that he has cardiomyopathy on the low end of the scale.  Just a bit above what is termed as normal.  So what this means is that one wall of his heart is slightly thickened.  The cardiologist did also see some fibrous formations, but he didn't know what that meant.  Anyway, this means that he needs to be monitored.  So, more expensive visits to the vet in his future.  And if it is determined that it's thickening, then he may have to take medication daily or twice a day!  Yikes!  I can't imagine having to give the poor guy something twice a day.  Sure, we would get used to it, but he is really good at holding a pill in his mouth forever and then spitting it back up when you assume he had to have swallowed it by then.  So, hopefully that will not happen.

Tomorrow I have a doctor visit of my own.  I decided to see if I can get tested for diabetes.  I've taken those online tests, and they end up with the suggestion that I should get checked by a physician right away!  So, here I am after feeling these symptoms for who knows how long, going to get it checked out.  Although I don't know if they are going to take a blood test tomorrow.  So, I will have to call when I wake up tomorrow and ask.  Because if I have to fast and not have any coffee beforehand, I guess I should know this.  I'm sure it will be nothing though - another case of my hypochondria.  I'm always saying something is wrong with me, and the FP is saying yeah, you have hypochondria.

So, is it sick that if the test comes back with something wrong with me I will feel ..... validated?  Yes, it is isn't.  I always make the joke how one day I will be diagnosed with cancer and I'll rub it in his face.  Ha ha.

But really, I don't want cancer or diabetes.  But what if I'm told nothing is wrong with me?  What if I am told that it is normal to be thirsty all day long and drink at least a gallon of water a day, be hungry all the time, get the shakes and feel faint if I haven't eaten 4 hours after my last meal, get dizzy randomly when I might just be sitting at the computer, get tingly arms when I jog, and almost gag every time I brush my teeth?  WHAT IF IT'S ALL IN MY HEAD? What if this blog is also all in my head and none of the events that I write about never happened?  What if I'm a crazy person in an insane asylum that thinks I'm writing a blog, but the reality is that I'm just carving gibberish on my arm, or even worse, writing gibberish on the walls with my blood and feces?

Speaking of feces, my cat shat on the bed the other night.  While I was laying on the bed.  Okay, she didn't shit on the bed, but she like had a soft lump of shit on the back of her long ass fur, and when she got on the bed she either licked it off or it just rubbed off onto the bed.  So, I moved on the bed, and then I felt something soft on my leg.  So I reached down to feel around, and then I brought my hand up to my face to look at it, and there was a piece of poop staring back at me from my finger.  It was like the size of a quarter.  Poop on my finger.  Cat poop.  There was now just a little brown smear on my leg, because it was all on my finger.  So I wiped the poop off my finger and I scrubbed my finger.  I scrubbed my leg.  Then I scrubbed my finger.  Leg, then long scrub of my whole hand, like an OCD scrub.  I was glad I had that bar of soap from a hotel that had sea salt in it.  The salt really helped buff the poop off.

So then I had to take the sheet and blanket off the bed.  And then I had to wipe The Fuzz's butt off as much as she would let me, because while there was no visible poop on it, her butt stank of shit.  So, then I tried to climb into bed again and relax and read my book.  I was hoping she wouldn't come up on the bed again.  Luckily, I think the butt cleaning pissed her off, so she didn't get back on the bed until I was asleep.  Which was fine.