I have GOT to start writing shit down when I think of it. I had all kinds of fun things to divulge to you freaks, but then I drank half a bottle of Cabernet and ate my weight in lemonade jelly beans. And watched District 9. That is a fucked up movie, but then again, ANY movie that makes me want to cuddle a cockroach-shrimp hybrid is a fucked up movie.
So, in short, I forgot.
What I DO know is that there are big things happening in the Zipbag household, and no, I'm not pregnant, not yet anyway, because once we say "I do," I've got about 100,000 eggs all prepped and waiting. I might literally jump Gray's bones on the altar.
I think, because he loves the little children, that Jesus would approve.
No, our big things have more to do with buying a house. But I'm not at liberty to disclose those things yet, so you'll have to wait for the exciting news. This is a total secret. Now please excuse me while I go make an offer on a property. But don't ask any questions because I WON'T TELL YOU THE SECRET.
So Gray and I met a friend of ours in St. Paul at The Nook on Friday night. And by "friend," I mean this hairy guy from my British literature class last fall who didn't even remember who I was because he sat in the front row, which he did because it meant he didn't have to remember anyone from class.
I think he might be brilliant, and because this next bit of information has everything to do with this hairy yet brilliant "friend," I'm going to have to give him a pseudonym. Let's call him Moe.
Hi Moe! I know you're out there waiting to read about yourself! Thanks again for dinner!
Ok, so within 15 minutes of arriving at the restaurant, Moe told us The Best Poop Story EVAH, which means he invoked the power of Awesomeness and anointed himself with...well, let's not extrapolate on what he may have used to anoint himself, but I do know that he ensured my undying loyalty (which sounds awesome, but as he'll learn, really it means I'll require him to ditch his daughters with the snap of my fingers in exchange for some Cat Gossip Time)((about him))(((while he's wearing a tutu and pouring my vodka))).
And Skittles. I will require Skittles. In bulk.
Moe began his story by telling us that his apartment or house or whatever he lived in (I wasn't really listening at that point because I was distracted by the bartender, who was wearing a t-shirt which said "nookie" in numerous locations, and who was pouring my Guiness which = me not paying appention, not even if you're naked) had one bathroom upstairs and a solitary shower stall in the basement.
Shortly upon moving into the rental, Moe woke to an incredibly urgent Poop Situation, but unfortunately, he discovered that the (one and only) toilet was occupied. By someone else. Who was not Moe.
Apparently, Moe's Poop Situation was such that he had to conceive an alternate Poop Station, and he decided (BRILLIANTLY!) that because he needed to shower anyway, he might as well try to "work something out" in there. That's what he actually said, "work something out," and I don't even think he was punning on purpose, it just came out naturally. (My pun trumps his pun.)
So Moe settles on a plan: He'll poop in the shower, near the drain, and he'll mush it through the tiny-holed drain with his feet, and then he'll pretend like it never even happened like, Poop? What poop? I don't poop, I'm a musician.
And so that's what he did. He shit, he smashed, he moved on. And he thought he'd gotten away with his little makeshift potty fiasco.
That was, of course, until one of his roomies asked him, "Dude. Did you shit in the shower?"
To which, of course, he replied, "What the fuck? Who would DO such a thing? No, dude. It wasn't me."
After which he was informed by the roomie that there was a trail of evidence, so to speak, which would (begging Moe's pardon) seem to indicate that he DID poop in the shower.
It turns out that the basement shower stall was not directly connected to the home's drainage system, but instead drained through a short portion of your standard variety garden hose, which emptied NEAR the floor drain, but not above it.
You see where this is going...
...the roomie had unwittingly stumbled across a streak of wet, mushy shit which led to a pile of wet mushy shit, all of which lay in a wet, shitty pile on the floor of the basement.
"Did you get busted?" I asked him, once I'd hoisted my oozing jaw up off the floor where it lay next to my purse.
"They knew," he replied. "I lied, but they knew."