Campaigns

I’ve been obsessed with the simbiosis of campaigning and self-loathing lately. The decay parlayed into something to sell, to show, to shroud. I’m drinking last night’s glass of wine and just noticed the tv’s been on mute for so long the same show’s back on. Oh, I’ve sat through so many loops. 

By campaigning I don’t mean political in nature, although campaigning of every other sort can be political in course. Look it’s me. Look how great I can be. Look at me. 

People confuse adoration with love. Be my fan. Love me. Little monkeys doing tricks for coins that line the pockets of people who couldn’t care less. Still they’re out there campaigning; selling themselves, selling themselves short. 

I don’t know. I just can’t give it a rest. Everyone’s always begging for approval. And then the party’s over and you’re face is in the toilet and the cum in your sheets isn’t even your own. But at least you won the race, right?

Pathological

Pathology: it is not the intention of a path; it is the path of the disease. The two are often confused. His pathology is far-reaching; it reaches out beyond his bones and into mine, and into me. His loathing loads across the wires, a telegram telling me I am not who I once was. I am not who I once was. It is pathological.

Misery loves company and we're an infirmary. We're firm in our armory. We've got all kinds of worded weapons for each other and ourselves. To protect our co-bedding; but this is not symbiosis, it is simply parasitic. I am trying to get well again; I cannot get well for us both. His poison seeps into the safety of coming up close. I'm getting loaded alone, grasping for ways to dull the pain. But nothing cures a cancer that can metastasize in time.

We are growing older, but wiser none the same. His pathology reaches out to me, like a desperate plea for reprieve. His loathing loads across the wires, I'm a telegram disconnected; the message is there forevermore but lost in translation. There's nothing left but a handful of beeps blaring out into space. And the space between grows and grows at such a disparate pace.

I am growing out of him, a cantilevered mass, like a bowlby baby who needs to be cut out of some suffocating grasp. I need him 'cause he needs me.

The pathology is deep here; it is far-reaching. Loneliness is never intended. It just comes and grows and gains and goes from whence it came: Alone. So I'll tether myself to the wires all around me, and I'll double down, as swift as tension will subscript. He pulls at me; coiling and uncoiling. There is no simple path, simply the pathology of some terminal disease. Our intentions are all moot now; we are pathological.

hearts

i let him in, again, just like i knew i would. just like he knew i would. i liked it. i hated it. i hated myself for it. i loved it. for all the things i believe in, there are so many things i don't believe in. for all the trust i have for him, i have no trust in him. still i answer the phone, i answer the door. he took little pieces of me, so many for so long. there only but a few left. still i answer the phone, i answer the door. i am broken from him, i am weak from me. i am sick of this. i am in love with us. or who we used to be; of who we might have been. it's hard to have faith in anything. it's impossible to have faith in him. still i answer the phone, i answer the door. i don't even know who i am anymore. i was better before. i was better before. still i answer the phone, i answer the door. and in the morning he texts me hearts, like it means something; like everything is fine. and i'll know it's my fault. and that's all he needs to do. because i let him. because i answer the phone, i answer the door. how can i expect him to care for me, when i don't care for myself? i was better before. i was better before. i was better before. but the phone and the door. and hope. all that fucking hope. i should know better by now. but i was better before.

Fades Away

the moon is full, my arms are empty.

somewhere between fourth and sixth the urge to cry began to violently climb my throat. i held it in as best i could; i made it all the way to melrose. alone in the elevator, i finally fell apart. love, fade away. love, just fade away.

every face looked so familiar, because none of them were yours. you are nowhere. yet, you are everywhere. in everything. you are all around me; i cannot escape. love, fade away. love, just fade away.

nothing and no one is permanent. but how can something so deep inside me, so coursing through my veins, be gone? you are nowhere. you are everywhere.

i am skin and bones and devastation. alone in this house, i am reeling; i am reeling myself into tight knots, heavy holds, creases over where you used to be.

everything feels broken. all these useless bones. all those hopeful promises. what are we of this mess? what are we of this?

love, fade away. love, please fade away. love, fade away. love, please fade away. love, fade away. love, please fade away. love, fade away. love, please fade away. love, fade away. love, please fade away.

the moon is full. it means nothing. no surprises, no last stands, not even a ghost. my arms are empty now. i am empty now. i gave it all to you. everything, for you. every little piece.

love, just fade away.

goodbye, hello

the sound resounds of your goodbye; a slow draw and slower fade. it fades throughout my day. a haze coming up from where the sound meets the sky, indivisible by the words you say and the ones i do not. we don't agree on much, but this is axiom. sometimes you drive me crazy, crazy, harshly, horribly. sometimes i cannot bear to be around you. sometimes enough is enough and i've had my fill. but i love you all the time. i think of you all the time. i thank god for you all the time.

love is no easy task. love can destroy so many pieces of you, pieces you didn't know were there to fall apart. love is exhausting. but it is such a blessing. it is something to behold, to brave through. love is no easy task. but i love you all the time.

you're everywhere, all the time. you're everywhere in me, all the time. you kiss me and say hello. and after all this time, after all this... you kiss me and say hello and i still melt into a million pieces.

it's easy to look at the big picture and see all the missing pieces. but when you start to take it all apart, when you start to remove the pieces that are there, you realize how much you value them all. people do their best. sometimes we forget to try. sometimes we forget how much we value all those little pieces. last ditch efforts are better than none at all, are sometimes the most successful. love and places and faces are irreplaceable.

Somjai Setabul

In 2002 a woman in Thailand went to the zoo, nonchalantly strolled to the crocodile enclosure, climbed atop the fence and dove in. When at first the crocodiles ignored her, she swam to the closest of them and hit it in the face. The crocodiles then tore her limb from limb. She never made a sound. She never said a word.

Her husband had cheated on her.

I think of this woman almost every day. Some tragic modern-day Daphne. The ways we treat each other. The ways we destroy ourselves over something so precious as love.

It happened again 3 months ago.

It's a story that my mind cannot seem to escape.

this is so much harder than i ever could have anticipated. and i was worried already. how do you just let go of love? how do you just let go? change is hard. the hardest part is knowing what you're missing; knowing what you'll miss. simple things. coming over and eating all my food. complaining about my couch. texts goodnight. joking about his coworker. quiet presence. touching hands. hoping for more.

Loveworn

for all the trying that we do, we are worn out. we may have worn this out. i wear it around, like a stain or a scar. and all this thinking erodes through me, till i'm brittle bones and bad decisions, all for you, all the time. it sharpens down into a point, and at a certain point we're just stabbing ourselves. it gets so narrowed down so small it almost disappears. almost. for all the trying that we do, there's nothing more that i can do for you. there's nothing more except a hello, and then a goodbye. i am worn out from love.  i am worn out, love. i am worn love. loveworn.

the rain is almost snow. so cold it burns. all the christmas lights on crane carving up this part of town, how they shine down on us. taunting of promises never kept. looming over us. you loom over me. taunting of promises never kept. i narrow down. this used to be so big. where'd we melt off to? so cold it burns. loveworn.

One Night in Hongdae (part 14)

I could barely see straight. We made our way through the crowds of Korean hipsters, all toting beers, neon and designer handbags. People stopped us sporadically, to ogle, to take photos, to scream, "Yeah America!" We stumbled along the streets amid a blur of bright lights to an old, unassuming office building. The lobby was white and barren and in ill repair. A handful of drunk girls leaned against the wall adjacent to the elevator, giggling and slurring. Korean slurring sounds infinitely sloppier than English. Scott pressed the up button and I looked around for some clue as to what we were doing there.

Being relatively new and high as a kite, I didn't want to ask any stupid questions. Perhaps someone had mentioned needing to stop by an office and I had just missed it? Was I hallucinating? Had I drunk too much of that strange man from the park's wine? Drinking strange wine from strange men in foreign countries where people don't speak English probably isn't advisable. Perhaps this was my punishment? Is this what ruphies feel like?

The elevator doors opened and we all piled in, along with the drunk Korean girls who had spent the better part of the wait staring at me. Wait, were they staring at me? Was I just paranoid? Were they even there at all? Wait, how am I drunk and high as a kite on GHB in Korea with a bunch of complete strangers? Oh my god, what have I gotten myself into? I need to pee. Robert looked down at me, "You're going to love this so much!"

The elevator doors re-opened on the 5th floor to another sparse and barren lobby. It was completely empty, not a door nor sofa nor table or window. Nothing except a large hole, that resembled a doorway, in the wall across from us. Next to the hole was an umbrella stand full of plastic bags. Am I in the Matrix? This is Lewis Carroll's worst nightmare. Everyone walked to the hole in the wall, where Scott grabbed one of the plastic bags and started piling everyone's shoes into it. He looked at me insistently, holding the bag open. I hopped around awkwardly trying to slip off my shoes for what seemed like 20 minutes but was probably closer to fifteen seconds. Robert finally pulled them from my hand and dropped them into the bag, "Let's go monkey."

And that's when we all walked into the hole in the wall which led immediately to an old, rock spiral staircase. We walked up two or three flights of this ancient stairwell in a hole in a wall in in an ugly office building with nothing in it, lost amongst the busy and drunken streets of Seoul. And then, then we emerged into a cave. Seriously. At this point I knew it wasn't the drugs, because there was no way I nor my mind could have made this up.

The music was blaring and echoing through this large complex of caves with stalagmites and tiny fires and narrow riverbeds. In the center of it all a giant mosquito net hung from the highest point, full of people dancing in the ice blue light. We passed the bar and found an empty cavern full of pillows, where we tossed our plastic bag of shoes. And that's when details get blurry. I remember ordering two Hites at the bar, "Cum saw hominy duh Hite" I stumbled over my over-thought words while holding up 2 fingers. The girl behind the bar giggled, and I giggled back unsure of why I was giggling but feeling it was probably the appropriate response. The I handed her $100 instead of $10. Robert smiled, said something in Korean, then handed my money back to me.

I remember the really sweet but stupid girl from Maryland, who I convinced I was a beaver trainer at the zoo.

I remember seeing the two girls who were on cycle 7 of America's Next Top Model. "Monique, theyerr on Ant-M."

"What?"

"Sorry, I'm so fucked up right now and I have to poop so bad."

"Me too."

I then took a moment to try to repeat myself. I had to concentrate hard, "They. Were on. America's. Next. Model. Top. Top Model. America's Top Model."

I don't remember who, but someone chimed in with agreement. Then Monique and I walked over to say hello. That conversation was a total wreck, but somehow resulted with me making out with one of them. Incidentally, two years later in a bar in San Francisco, I would run into the other one. I happened to be drunk at the time and just ran over to here screaming, "I made out with your friend in a cave in Korea!"

I remember peeing in a waterfall and then talking about how amazing it was to pee in a waterfall in a bar and how all bathrooms should have waterfalls to pee in.

I remember dancing in the mosquito net.

I remember being told that Koreans don't practice public displays of affection, so I should stop making out with that America's Next Top Model girl.

And everything else is a blank tape. Until morning, when it was horribly bright, disgustingly hot and all I wanted to do was vomit and then die. I downed a banana milkshake, some shitty coffee and a piece of stale toast before we made our way to Seoul Tower for some traditional American tourism. Did I mention that I wanted to die? I really wanted to die.

We got off the subway and took a taxi up a long and winding road. It was so long and so winding. So many turns. So much turning. For so long. My body and stomach swayed with each turn. Monique stared out the window while Robert giggled at my pain. We got out at the base of the tower, where we waited in an incredibly long line that wrapped around the tower. And this is precisely where I threw up on one of Korea's most famous national monuments, in front of hundreds of people.

We flew to Bangkok the next day.

Pour Me Another's

People don't have patience for sadness, if not for a fuck or a kill or to laugh. They throw lots of tiny, colorful pills at us. Smile or something, it's a gift. Spin it into a sinew. You frighten off the strangers. Bury it into the voices in the background, all the clanging of glasses and pourmeanothers. Keep it to yourself. Burrow in for winter, for winter's sake. Anything free is hard to swallow; it won't be enough to be rich. People don't have patience for sadness, but they love to watch us break.

Things He Didn't Say

he said, "i love your tattoo. you know you're beautiful, right?"

i smiled meekly and dug my heels into the ground. someone find me a glass of wine.

Funeral Shoes

I slide my shoes on, they feel like funeral shoes. I deny. I bargain, too. I hope, out of habit. Sitting front row, witness to the passing of a life not fully lived. They say it's something like a rite of passage. And time has passed by so quickly, while I've been holding so tightly to hope. Hoping he holds on so tightly out of more than just habit. And if I could spend a day inside his head; a quiet ghost. Instead I clomp around in funeral shoes, the sound of singular footsteps echoing louder than ever. My presence echoes, even when it's been so long since I've been touched that I feel like a ghost. Some rowdy spirit haunting this place; these old, persistent bones erect out of habit, out of hope. One day I'll float from all this. But not today.

I keep having these dreams where everything is as it should be. As anyone would hope it could be. Where he tells me he loves me. Where he means it. Where he means all the things he says. Where I feel real, tangible.

One day I'll float from all this, out of habit, out of hope. But not today. Instead I slide my shoes on, like funeral shoes. I deny. I bargain. I hope, out of habit. It erodes from the inside out. One day he'll be able to reach right through me to grab a beer or book or blanket to keep the chill away.

It's so cold my lips swell. What good would they do? What good could they do? My presence echoes.

Of Spinning Ceiling Fan Blades

When he and I were still a we and we were still there, whenever we fought we'd lay on the floor and stare up at the spinning ceiling fan. We'd just lay there and stare until our hands found one another. I'm not sure how it happens to us as we grow up, but it stops being so easy. Ego, fear, a need to stand up for ourselves; something always gets in the way of muscle memory, of spinning ceiling fan blades.

It's the same with books. It used to be so easy to read. Now I find I pick up a book and if it isn't what I hoped it would be, I get bored or frustrated and set it away somewhere to collect dust forevermore. I just can't seem to let it be what it is. I just can't seem to let it surprise me. Maybe I'm terribly afraid it never will. Maybe my will is a little too much, even for me, even for books.

Here he and I are now, a we, still clinging to what and who we could be if we could just lay down and stare up and wait for our hands to find one another. I've watched him this past year grow into all these things I'd hoped he could be; for me and despite me. It's funny how we never see things changing; we only see them changed, surprised by quick glances in rearview mirrors as we reluctantly stumble from place to place and face to face. We wonder how we could have missed something so big.

I wonder how I could have missed something so big. I lay out on my back, limbs akimbo, and stare longingly at the empty ceiling. I hope our hands find one another.

The Turtle + The Schoolbus

I spent about 40 minutes trying to get a turtle out of a school bus for my boyfriend's 3 year old nephew. I have an innate need to solve problems. Even as a kid I was the family mediator, which was quite the task to take on. I dug around in that little school bus until my fingers bled. Sometimes what's stuck is just stuck. Sometimes you're the only one trying. And you realize you're trying so hard because you're the only one trying; because you refuse to fail. Maybe you've already failed. Maybe you fail a little more each time you try, each time your fingers bleed. You look around at an unmoved room. You spend so much time trying to get the turtle out, you don't even realize you don't care so much about the turtle, maybe you never did to begin with; you just needed to prove you could, prove you were worth it. But who are you proving it to and what's there to win?

Magic(al Thinking)

The tarps in the neighboring construction site flap like birds in the wind. I close my eyes and imagine storks. The dredging and the rain has perked up a family of frogs that croak beneath my window in the morning. The croaking of frogs and the flapping of storks and the sunlight trickling in between the storm clouds. We make the most of what we have.

Lions

When we were lions, platitudes yet to slowly drift upon our tables. Grimaces only growing in the glare of the light shining in our eyes, like through vintage lenses, as we drive along highways to new old places. A swipe at any foreign hand that lingered too long. When we were lions, we'd lie down safely knowing we were impervious, permeating unto each other. A laugh, a link, a lakeside drive, a little less fear, a little more alive. Back when we were lions.

Where now we bare our teeth and shrink beneath the wary welts we wear so well. We bare our teeth barely believing in anything impervious anymore. The road gets so big it spreads itself thin. And I can hardly reach you. Lions to outliers to a little more alone than before. I watch the road stretch along the horizon, away from you. I burrow down in any safe ground I can find; it's almost night. It's almost night.

Back when we were lions, sturdy standing amid the moving lines.

Fraudulent

Broken stars are supernovas, are glorified. We shuffle stridently through each day, hoping we can one day glorify the damage done. And there on Facebook we face ourselves in light of the harsh light of so many other explosions to which we do not dare compare. We blindly look around at all these people, little celebrities in their own light. We are so silently watched. Trying to make the most of everything that surrounds us, in such tantalizing ways. Trying to feel the ways we hope we look. Only hoping we do not look the ways we feel. Broken stars are supernovas, are glorified. You can't help but feel like the fraud who's waiting to get caught. I'm always waiting to get caught, or just to catch on to everything around me that looks so sincere but feels so remote.

Versus

It seems so often we see the world as how it ought to be and dream of it as we wish it could be. As though it never occurred to us that it could be so grand as our own fantasies. We don't allow ourselves to deserve great things. We create the perfect pictures in our minds and decide those places can never be mine. Those pieces are much too much. Much too much for me, for here and now.

Tonight was the first real rain of the season. The leaves come pouring down in droves and scatter across the sidewalks and out into the streets. All orange and yellow papier mache. The autumn smells grow stronger and last longer as day turns to night and we all scatter across the sidewalks and out into the streets. The Space Needle seems so much brighter; standing out in the distance, standing out a beacon to remind us that we're here. It's so easy to forget where we are sometimes.

I breathe in that crisp, cold air and clear my head. You can almost feel it sinking in and cleaning out the fog of summer. It gets so quiet, my footsteps feel so loud. And I think about how it ought to be and how I wish it could be. The I do's versus the ideals. And how I let myself get lost in between them. Why am I so afraid to go after what is good. Why is it so hard to be good to ourselves? Why are we so afraid?

Everything seems so surreal lately; like I'm watching someone else live it. Or like it's happening all around me, in spite of me, despite me. Suddenly you're 31 and you're not really sure how you got here. You start to make changes, but even the changes don't feel like changes. The days just look different than you remember them; the color's off, the stride has strayed just slightly off course in no unrecognizable way. And then you're just so far in that you forget to look out. And before you know it, you're face first in a pile of leaves wondering how winter tore through you and so many seasons so quickly. Late night coffee is back in season and you can start to see your breath again and all this time you've just been thinking about what happens next.

We used to sit in the park and talk about the things we had in common, the people we'd slept with, the childhood traumas, the jokes we didn't think were funny. We'd sip recklessly on champagne and stare at the city down below; like we were watching it in a show rather than the backdrop of our days forgotten more fruitfully with each sip.

Three years later we're all over the place and we're ever so better to ourselves and better to each other the best we know how. Still I wonder, why is it so hard to be good to ourselves?

one night in seoul (part 13)

our guesthouse was up a tight alley in gyedong, nestled just below Changdeok Palace. the entire neighborhood is preserved by the city of seoul as traditional korean housing, including the guesthouse. we were greeted at the gate by two enormous dogs and a little, old korean man who spoke broken english, at best. it was all so charming. we walked through the large garden to our cottage, which was everything you'd expect of a traditional korean cottage. shoes lined the exteriors of each doorway, each door a sliding shoji. there was something so powerful about finally experiencing an image i'd held for so long.

seoul guesthouse

i was permitted a brief nap, shower and shit. and then we were off. we walked the cobblestone road toward the subway, submerged in the depth of a summer unavoidable. even at dusk, the heat resonated, as i breathed in the swimmable air of an escape i'd never fathomed. when everything is foreign, distant and new, for at least a fleeting moment, your past exists on a separate plane. sometimes it's enough. soometimes it's all you need. i relished it, ear to ear. and the persistent buzz of the cicadas, like a wire torn in two, reaked of the disconnected circuitry i was feeling and existing in. it was so welcoming. so freeing.

we descended into the subway, which was a world unto itself. a city beneath the surface; shops and restaurants in every cranny, crack and crevice. as most of the shops had already closed for the night, we were relegated to eyeing jewelry, taxidermy and knock-offs purses through the windows as we passed.

while i have always lived in very diverse cities (portland being the exception) and had traveled quite a bit through mexico, i found it quite jarring to be so submerged in an asian culture. robert, monique and i were noticably the only non koreans in the station and on the train and seemingly the entire city. koreans brave enough in their english skills would approach us time and time again, asking from where we were traveling. each response of "america" garnered shit-eating grins, peace signs, and almost always a photo-op. i know this would seem an exaggeration, but i swear to shit, see for yourself. you'll feel like a celebrity. i can't even begin to imagine how many photos there are of robert, monique and i with random korean hipster kids.

we arrived in the hongdae neighborhood around tennish. it is hands down the hippest neighborhood i have ever been to. it is essentially the mass convergence of hipster, pop, designer-chic and faux harajaku cultures all in fifteen or so square blocks. we drowned in a sea of neon, motorcycles, dolce & gabana and blaring korean and american pop music. there was nary an apartment or house in sight; merely block after block of bars, clubs, cafes and shopping that would make any sixteen year old girl cream herself: american apparel, puma, marc jacobs, flight one, versace, and so and on for what seemed like forever.

hongdae district

we squeezed into a ramen bar and found a group of robert's friends, who were also teaching english there. and much to my delight, every single one of the seven of us had lived in new orleans at the same time! this is what i love about that city: everywhere you go, you run into nola'ers; and they're always the coolest, nicest, most interesting people. i gazed at the menu, entirely in korean and simply said, "no cheese, no mushrooms, no weird animals, preferably pork, chicken or shrimp." a humongous bowl of shrimp and god knows what else arrived moments later. since all the other kids had been done long before our arrival, i did my best to slam the mystery concoction, while talking about life pre and post katrina and living in seoul.

after we finished our ramen, robert's friends scott and angela smiled and presented robert with a gift. robert than smiled and looked at monique and me, "tonight is going to be so much fun! we have to find something to put this in! to the liquor store!" the entire group walked down a parkside street to a liquor store, where we bought 3 20ozs. evidently, much like new orleans, seoul has no open container laws because we strolled into the park, which was full of drunk korean club kids and rubbish. robert popped the cap off one of the beers and told us to take a few big gulps and then return the bottle. monique and i complied, without question or hesitation. robert then proceeded to poor the contents of a 8oz bottle into the beer, shake it up, and pass it back to us.

"drink up." he said.
"what is it?" we asked in unison.
"it's like ghb-"
then scott chimed in, "it's legal here. sort of."
i made a face, which was apparent when robert responded with, "you'll love it. it's like being really drunk and a little bit like being on ecstacy."
my only concern then was if it would give me the killer hangover ecstacy had when i used to recreationally do it years and years before. robert assured it would not; well, at least not so severely.

so, down the hatch.

as we drank the beer/ghb concoction, an old korean man passed with a wheelbarrel full of korean wine. robert bought two bottles, popped those open and passed them into the circuit of what was now two beer/ghb bottles, one standard beer bottle, one soju bottle and the two bottles of wine. a few local kids approached and tried their english on us, as we chatted with this painfully cute, yet horribly dumb girl who had also lived in new orleans. when she and her friend saw a collection of white kids, they immediately sidled on. americans in korea seem to do this with other americans.

hongdae park

after about ten minutes i felt wasted and an extreme need to shit. am i going to shit my pants, again?* robert told us that the feeling simply meant the ghb was starting to kick-
i could no longer speak without slurring or see straight. it was dizzying and horrifying and... wonderful. monique and i looked at one another, grinning wide. we tried to relate the experience; but words simply spilled out of our mouths, a mess of excitement and intoxication, and into the empty bottles and leaflets that surrounded us.



it was now close to eleven, and scott would be spinning at a club in the neighborhood, which was only described as the coolest club we'd ever attend; something of a cavern, they said. so we stumbled through the streets of hongdae, laughing, singing and dancing in anticipation of what would become one of the craziest nights of my life.

*From: Anonymous

Date: Wed, Oct 3, 2007 at 11:15 AM
Subject: those magical moments
To: [all my friend]

as many of you know, my roommates and i spent the weekend inside ill. during this time, we learned that mixing certain cold meds produced a rather atrocious gas problem. however, we also learned that over-medicating ourselves made this gas problem much more manageable.

well, by the close of monday night we were all starting to feel better, and were definitely experiencing cabin fever. so, i was determined to do something with my evening last night. i woke up, had some sudafed and dayquil and ventured to work. i had my usual morning coffee and doughnut, and went about my day in the typical manner. perhaps it was the combination of over-medication and determination to enjoy the evening that led me to answer a phone call i'd been avoiding for weeks now. you see, the ex-boyfriend's best friend had been trying, unsuccessfully, to have a few drinks. for all the obvious reasons, i'd been resistant to this idea. well, she caught me off guard and plans were made. drinks at the bar across the street at 8.

in the meantime, i'd made plans to meet a friend for coffee at 4. (for those of you keeping track, that's: 3 coffees, two tablespoons of dayquil, two sudafed ams, 1 chocolate bar). after coffee, i ran a few errands and arrived at home in time to prepare inna for her date. by the time inna got out the door, i had about ten minutes before i had to meet the ex's friend. so i threw on my big coat (it was raining pretty heavily) and walked over.

over a glass of wine, we did the chit chat thing. and once that had exhausted itself, the inevitable conversation found it's way to the bar. sparing you the details, the bulk was talk of reconciliation. much to most peoples' chagrin, this was not something i was adverse to. the conversation began to get somewhat deep and heavy, and was interrupted when nature called.

for those of you who haven't been to the bar across the street, it has two unisex bathrooms; one on either side of the bar. the one to the left is at the end of a short hallway, which contains a side door that exits onto the street, and is directly across the street from our front door. the bathroom to the right has no hallway or exit door. more often than not, i use the bathroom to the right, because the bathroom to the left is somewhat bigger and we all know my fear of large bathrooms. i did not deviate from this habit last night. unbeknownst to me, this decision would become the greatest mistake of my life.

(for those of you keeping track: 3 coffees, two tablespoons of dayquil, two sudafed ams, 1 chocolate bar, 1.5 glasses of wine)

i faced the toilet, unzipped and started to pee. and then... then...

i was greeted by the worst surprise ever.

i shat my pants.

i shat my pants!

ohmygodohmygodohmygod. i shat my pants.

i was overcome by a shitstorm, if you will, of panic. sparing you the grim details, i will say i was able to restrain the majority of nature's little accident. so i did the quickest 180 ever, and deposited the remainder in the proper receptacle. and then... then i didn't know what to do. i was trapped. i was trapped with only me and my shame. had i chosen the bathroom to the left i would have been met by a door to clean underwear and moist towels. but i chose wrong. horribly, horribly wrong.

now it has been told that some in this same situation have celebrated by throwing their feces onto the walls and clogging up sinks and showers. having been raised with dignity and etiquette classes, i had to deal with the situation with grace. i assessed the damage, and decided that my newest, cutest pair of american apparel underwear were not disposable. i knew i had to make haste, to avoid being gone for too long and creating suspicion. i called inna, who did not answer. i'm not really sure what i thought she could do to help resolve this situation, but like i said i was somewhat panic stricken. so i did what any mature, responsible adult who shits themself would do. i wiped ferociously and then poured heavy doses of soap into my pants and returned to the bar to finish our wine and conversation.

the next five minutes have become the most uncomfortable five minutes of my life. there is no feeling even remotely comparable to that of talking to your ex-boyfriend's best friend about the reconciliation you plan to make, while the toxic sludge one can only call "shoap" roots around in your ass. but i am proud to say i was a pooper trooper, and finished my drink without even a hint at the atrocities quietly happening to me. after our drink, i slid off the barstool and slid on my long jacket (thank god for rain), said goodbye and non-chalantly walked home.

upon entering my house i did what everyone does when they shit themselves. i called colette to brag. and then jen.

inna returned from her date, with her date, to find me standing in the living room in only my underwear, laughing hysterically into the phone. i immediately hung up and regaled both of them of the night's events. and then i apologized for being rude and introduced myself to her date.