Target vs. Poop

This is a story about Target.  It’s actually a story about poop.  Which one makes you want to read it more?  So today I was in Target, like any other day.  Maybe it was because Zac Posen was there this month.    Every few weeks Target has a designer come in and do their thing for a few weeks.  Right now its Zac Posen, made popular by the ever precious Natalie Portman. Maybe it was because they have awesome 80’s print bathing suits,  and if I am going to wear neon, its going to be on a bathing suit.  I probably just needed dog food but it never hurts to look. 

So I am walking down the isle and I have the worse gas imaginable. Let’s side note here by admitting I have a fear, like a SEVERE fear, of public restrooms.  I barely ever even pee in them.  In my entire life, I had pooped in once 2x.  Ever.  So its gets a little dicey in the aisle and I start to freak out.  I grab my purse and leave my cart and run, literally run, to the bathroom.  At this point I am nervous and sweating and just am praying that its empty.  I make my grand entrance and try frantically to cover the seat with toilet paper.  I literally almost sharted.  I was trying desperately to hold in while I put toilet paper down on the seat.  It was both the worst and the funniest thing that happened to me today.

One night…. a night a long, long time ago, we sat on the back porch on a clear beautiful night.  I wore my new scarf that my tree friend had bought me as a birthday present.  It matched my outfit perfectly.  Us tree friends drank wine until we got silly (more than usual)  and made up for the past 5 months we hadn’t seen each other in.  Just like any other night,  I had the worst gas ever.  I could not help farting and none of the dogs were around to blame.  Instead I decided to blame… Dead Oreo.  Dead Oreo is very sad, but this night we made it something hilarious.  My mom has an iron doorstop that’s a replica of a cute little Boston Terrier we had named Oreo. RIP Oreo.  So I blamed my gas on dead Oreo and we laughed so hard I almost peed my pants.  Or farted a few times.  The next logical thing to do was to get in the dryer.  Then as if that wasn’t enough, I wanted to go through the door dog too.  All while holding my wine.  I am, after multi-talented.  From here on out we decided everything was “RUUUUDE.”  There’s some understated batspeak for ya.

I woke up the next day still wearing my scarf.

There are some lessons to be learned here.  *Tar-get is worth the prices.  Check out Zac Posen.  *Better to be in Target’s bathroom than Walmart’s.  *Always blame your gas on your dogs, dead or alive.  *Laugh so hard you cry.  *Stay up all night with good friends.  *Sleeping in your clothes is entirely acceptable.  *Sometimes people are just “RUUUDE.”  *Most important lesson here…. WE ARE AWESOME.

Love, The Bats

This is a real conversation. Part 3.

do you want to hear about poop?

absolutely

so i realized that awful pain was bc i was constipated. so i took of the cleanse pills yesterday. and now i cannot stop pooping and its making me mad

AAAAHAHAHAHAHAAAA LOL

That is FREAKING HILARIOUS

I am constipated half of the time

it's the worst thing ever

painful

i am not. thats why i didnt realize what it was

that's pretty funny. u should blog it. LOL!

i dont have anything else to say

hahhaha

that's all there is to say

Butt Pirate

First off, let me tell you that this man is the most high-strung, touchy, insecure yet self-absorbed, pretentious dick on the planet. He is the type of guy who would jump all over me because the tone of my text messages was not friendly enough. I guess he means I don't use faggy emoticons, exclamation points, triple dots (to infer being coy), and upbeat embellished language to signify that I'm SO EXCITED TO TEXT HIM!! Sorry- I like to stick to my 160 characters and get my fucking point across- that doesn't mean i hate your guts.

He was also the kind of guy who would scour Phillymag.com, phillychitchat.com, and other fake Philly papparazzi websites to see if he made the pictures. These websites were created to make ordinary losers feel important. There is no such thing as a "Philly Celebrity", and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Needless to say, this guy felt he was one and probably spent half the day googling himself.  If he did come across a picture of himself, he'd text me "Do I look alright? Does this picture make me look fat? Don't I look pale next to that guy?" The whole time I'd be thinking, "gold jacket, green jacket- who gives a shit?". There is nothing sexy about an insecure man, especially one that likes to look at pictures of himself online- like a highschool chick who takes pictures of herself pretending to be hardcore by flashing the sideways peace sign. If I didn't respond in a nice enough way, I'd get the "so you do think I look fat, huh?" "guess I'm not hot enough for you". Seriously- are you a chick?

Anyway, I was at his apartment before going to dinner one night and had to use his bathroom. He must have forgotten that company was coming over because he left his cabinet door open. Big mistake.

What was in it?  Anal suppositories, Tucks Medicated Hemmroid cream (I just burst out laughing while typing this), Stool Softener, Ex Lax, and Fake Tanning Gel.

I guess he really WAS a tight ass- literally and figuratively. Needless to say, I got the fuck out of there!