Finding the Loo

Hmm, my one year blogoversary was on Saturday and I missed it. Oh well.

I try to not talk too much about my current job, but I’ve already broken the seal with the vagina story. So here is another one.


I have worked at my company going on 11 years. But I only transferred to my current office about 4 years ago. It doesn’t really matter where I go, I am the only woman. Or one of very few women. My current office employs over 100 men and me.


This is relevant because it leads men to be very creepy towards me in the workplace. I get that I am one of very few women. But when we have our quarterly meetings there are 500 men and about 10 women, if even. So that means that walking around that space is like walking a gauntlet of 1,000 prying eyes.

Apparently this is not a new phenomenon…

I used to think I was imagining it. Until men came up to me from others offices, months or even years later to tell me about the first time they ever saw me. I did not meet these men. They just noticed me and apparently never forgot me. It doesn’t make me feel flattered, it makes me feel scrutinized and othered and creeped out.


The first time I ever attended one of our quarterly meetings, I was especially self conscious. I didn’t really know anyone at this new office, in this new region. I was kind of standing off to the side, trying to avoid any eye contact that would be taken as an invitation to come talk to me.


Except, I had to pee. Really badly. And I didn’t know where the bathrooms were because we hold our meetings at the Shriner’s club. But I also didn’t want to wander around and give all these men a chance to be gross towards me. Or interact with me in general.

Our meetings would be greatly improved if we could drive one of these little cars.

I decided to approach someone and ask for help. Ideally someone that worked at the Shriner’s Club.


I saw a man talking to a group of suits. The man was wearing VERY casual business casual. He was unshaven and unkempt. He looked hungover with bloodshot eyes and was in a state of general disarray.


Most people at our company wear name tags, and since he wasn’t, I assumed he didn’t work for my company. I approached the group and walked straight up to him.


He finished his sentence and turned to me. He smiled and said “Hello. What can I do for you?”


He was very friendly and looked to be in his late 40s. I smiled back and said. “Can you tell me where the ladies’ bathroom is?”


The other men in the group looked taken aback. I assumed it was because I was a female, asking a male where the bathroom was. Or because women aren’t supposed to do such disgusting things like have bodily functions. A lot of men at my job act that way.

No girls do, from what I hear.

But the man I approached did not even bat an eye. He smiled even wider and said’ “You know what? I don’t know where it is. I’ve never had to use it. But let’s find it.”


He said goodbye to the group of suits and together he and I went into the building in search of the bathroom.


We very quickly found it and I felt a little better about walking through the crowds of men with an escort. I am not so shy these days. Plus, I am the boss now, so that helps.

Beyonce Half-Time animated GIF

And I’m walking around like this. Seriously, they make fun of me for it all the time.

After I used the facilities I headed back outside and took a seat in the picnic area, again, away from everyone.


And that’s when several people came over to me.


“What did you do?” Asked one.


“What did you say to him?” Asked another.


I was really confused. I still thought he was a janitor. He hadn’t introduced himself as anything other. Or seem offended to help me find a toilet. “I asked him where the bathroom was.”


The guys that had come over to me looked horrified. “Why would you ask him that?!”


This is where I should have realized something was up. But I didn’t. So I said “Because I had to pee.”


“But why HIM?”


“Why not him? I don’t get it. He was nice. He helped me find that bathroom. What’s the problem?”


“That’s K!”


I didn’t know who K was. I was still really new. I stared at them blankly.


They told me his last name. But I still didn’t know who that was. I replied “So?”


Then they explained. “He’s our boss’s boss’s boss. Like three levels above our level.” They were looking at me, expecting a reaction.

Cursitivity Drawing for 124

I made you guys a flow chart of the hierarchy at the time.

“Well, he was nice. And he helped me find the bathroom so who cares?”


I explained to them that I had thought he was a janitor. And they explained to me that the group of suits he’d been talking to were our company’s vice president, CEO and other such higher ups.


I kind of laughed and shrugged it off. I couldn’t change it now. K is currently my boss’s boss. He is still very cool and nice and I really like him. And I’m sure he still remembers me as the woman that interrupted his conversation because I had to pee.

That’s how I first got my reputation at this office as being both incredibly weird and having huge balls. I had that same reputation at my other office but for a different reason, which I will tell at some point.

Germs and Toilets

I used to carry a wallet instead of a purse. That was before I got all paranoid and girl scout-y worrying that if I were in a plane crash and stranded in the woods like in that book The Hatchet, I couldn’t survive on chapstick and my wallet’s contents. The fact that I rarely fly did nothing to mitigate this fear. Also, I loved that book as a pre-teen.

Gary Paulsen is still the shit.


I traded a co-worker my sensible brown leather wallet for his canvas Velcro wallet covered in skulls. I’m classy like that. And I used that wallet until it disintegrated.


It was basically this in Velcro wallet form.


I loved that wallet. So much that I once was at this bar. My favorite bar ever. This bar is in my hometown and is by far the coolest thing there. It has amazing local bands playing every night of the week. And it shares a building with an antique hardware store.


The hardware store has an entire giant wall of working chandeliers and wall sconces. It also has bins of old skeleton keys, crystal doorknobs, hinges, all kinds of interesting parts and hardware. And so many doors and windows that it is kind of overwhelming.


This isn’t the place, but it is eerily similar.


They also lend statues to the bar which they keep in their courtyard. The bar has a beautiful brick paved courtyard with stone tables and benches. There is an outdoor bandshell and large white lights strung across the loquat trees.


That’s the stuff.


I am normally not very comfortable out in public. Let alone in a crowded bar. But this place makes me feel very comfortable. The inside is pretty interestingly decorated as shown below.



I know at least 40% of the people in any picture taken in my hometown. It’s a small town.


One day, before that velcro skull wallet disintegrated, I was at the bar with some friends and had to pee so bad! I drink a lot of water, like more than a gallon a day every day. And I have the bladder of a child. So, I have to pee pretty often.


I went into the bathroom and did my business, flushed the toilet and, as I was pulling up my pants (I normally pull them up before flushing, but I digress) my wallet fell right into the flushing toilet.


Into the toilet. At a bar. A public dirty toilet.


Yeah… about that…


I was in a real dilemma. I loved that wallet. And I really needed pretty much everything in it. But did I need my identity and debit card enough to put my hand in toilet water. I looked at it for a few minutes, watching as everything I loved got soaking wet and soggy.


I sighed. I tried to tell myself that it was no worse than the time I was up to my elbows in maggots. Urine is supposedly sterile. But who am I kidding. It was worse than the maggots, though it smelled a hundred times better.


I pulled the wallet out and washed it vigorously. I washed it five or six times, but I did not feel like it would ever be clean. I finally went back to my friends. I had just started seeing T at this time and he happened to have a ziploc for me to put it in.


I washed the wallet with bleach, which may have contributed to the disintegrating thing. And put the whole sordid experience behind me.


Until a few months later. I was at work using one of our office bathrooms. This time, I followed the natural order of things and pulled up my pants before flushing. Big mistake.


My work phone fell into the unflushed toilet.


These are the kinds of things they should teach you in economics in school. Is the emotional cost of reaching into an unflushed toilet worth more than the financial cost of “losing” your work phone.


These toilets were marginally cleaner than the bar toilet. And I actually knew the people that befouled them on a daily basis. But still. Unflushed.


I steeled myself, reached in, and pulled out the phone. By this point, I didn’t see how it could be any more damaged by getting wet, so I washed it very, very well.


I took it to my administrator and explained to her that I had dropped it in the toilet. She never asked if it was flushed or unflushed, saving me from having to lie. I suspect it never occurred to her that I would stick my hand in an unflushed toilet. I am a well known germ freak.


But what people don’t realize is, I am obsessed with germs. I love them. I am not afraid of them. I am not a germaphobe. I don’t like knowingly exposing myself to germs, but I do, every time I shake hands with someone. Or kiss them. Or touch pretty much anything in the public sphere.


Want, want, want!

Germs are unavoidable. And sometimes, so is reaching into the toilet to retrieve something valuable.

April Search Terms

Guys, I have had a shitty week both emotionally and healthwise. I had really only planned to do one post about my search terms. But I think it is going to turn into a monthly segment. Because this shit is amazing. And reading them made me feel better. And I haven’t written anything because I am working too much this week too.


Thank you for the search terms. I love all you weirdos.


Nacho Taco Bell- I keep hoping that if I talk about them often enough, they’ll talk back to me.


Chest Pain Felt Through the Back- This sounds serious. Probably something for 911 instead of Google.


Speculum- Have I ever even talked about speculums? Probably, actually. Knowing me. I always thought they looked like guns.




Pew! Pew!


Urination- I bet my mother would be so proud.


I got off the toilet and I got back pain- Listen, I may be old and falling apart. But I’m not at the point where I injure myself in bathroom related incidents. Yet. I swear, I really did fall down a flight of stairs. Sober.


Sex videos I wanted to fuck the meter reader- Should I be flattered? Concerned? I feel like I am disappointing so many people with the lack of porn on my blog.


I like fairies- I think we all do, my friend.


Back pain after falling down stairs- There were several variations on this. Story of my life right there.


Dogs breath smells rotting potatoes- Lots of things smell like rotting potatoes on the internet, apparently.


Sexy math- ALL math is sexy math


Cute Billy Boyd- I keep hoping if I talk about him often enough, he’ll talk back to me. Sorry for disappointing whoever was expecting to see some pictures of Billy Boyd. But let me make up for it now.




Sexy neaud (sic) doctor fingering pics- I don’t get the sexy part. Or the horrible spelling part.


I watched as my little sister peed in the cup- I think we’ve all been there. Or is that just me and this searcher?


I miss my period for a month and when I use the washroom I am passing sherik (sic) of blood sometimes- Once again, probably something for 911 instead of Google. I don’t know how much a sherik is, but it sounds dangerous. And vaguely Middle Eastern.


My character crush is fucked up- I am kind of offended this took you here. YOUR crush might be fucked up, but mine is totally normal.


How to stick a suppository up my boyfriend’s ass- The same way you’d stick anything else up his ass, it’s pretty self explanatory.


Naked woman that’s had heart surgery- Um…I’m not naked. At least as far as you know.


Gag sister story- Wow. Yeah. I’ve never gagged my sister. I don’t think I have ever even talked about gags. I mean, till now.


Fucking a stuffed animal that came to life- This is possibly illegal and you should take way less drugs before fucking your stuffed animal/actual animal. Or is this an idea for a movie, like that Mannequin movie? Because it is still kind of horrifying.


I need to die but can’t- Don’t worry, you will definitely eventually die. Unless you are immortal. Please be immortal.


Publix is shit- No it isn’t. You are wrong ma’am or sir. Publix is amazing.


Ingering (sic) gives me pain on the hip bone- I keep saying this in a sing song-y voice in my head. I like it. Thank you.


Male teenage suppository administration stories- I really feel like this more oddly specific porn searches.

Underwear for hematoma- It would be really cool if they had underwear that looked like you had a hematoma. Right? It’s going on my list of money making schemes.




When my younger sister and I were very young and impressionable, we saw a news story about a man going to the bathroom on his toilet in his own house when a snake came out of the sewer pipe and bit him on the butt.

snake in toilet

True story


I had not been afraid of snakes. And I am still not. But that story made me and my sister terrified of sitting on a toilet. And I still am (but only a little).


As a result, I would wait to go to the bathroom until it was a total emergency and I was nearly pissing myself. I wanted to spend as little time as possible on the toilet. I would jump up as soon as I was done, fearful of something biting my ass.


My little sister took a more drastic approach. She began peeing in plastic cups. But she wouldn’t dump them down the drain. I am not sure why. Was she saving them for later? Was she afraid of all drains and not just the one in the toilet?


She would pee in these cups and leave them all over the bathroom counters. It was obnoxious and disgusting. I hated having to smell her pee everytime I went into the bathroom because she couldn’t pee like a normal person. Like me.


One day I came up with an evil idea. I don’t even know where this idea came from. I used to think I was the good one, until I started this blog. And remembered this story.


I called my little sister into the bathroom. I told her the secret to how our older sister had grown so tall and beautiful. My older sister was the most attractive tall person either of us knew in real life. I told my sister; she drank her own pee.


Full of urea goodness.


I don’t know how I convinced her of this. I guess because she was a little gullible and because she very much trusted me.


She took one of her plastic cups of urine. She put it to her lips. And took a gulp. You might know where this is going. That exact moment was when my mother walked into the room.


My mother walked in on me gleefully watching my little sister take a huge swig of her own urine. I like to believe as soon as the initial bitter taste of it hit the back of her throat it engaged her gag reflex. This caused her to sputter and spray her mouthful of urine out in a lovely spray all over herself, and me, and the bathroom mirror. And? My mother.


She was like one of those fountains with the peeing cherubs. Except it was actually urine in this case. And it was coming out of her mouth. And it was getting all over us. Like when you see kids running through those fountains that shoot up out of the ground and you are super jealous even though you know that’s how you get bacterial infections and hepatitis and all but god damn it is hot out and the water looks AMAZING.

I think my mother grounded me until I was 30, so I technically am not allowed out with you guys for another six months. But; my sister drank her own pee. So: Worth it!