Oversharing. I Ain’t Scarrred.

I took my dogs to the vet when I was hugely pregnant with my daughter, and the doc, who is a native New Jersey gal, remarked that I don’t fit in with my quiet country venue; I was “so a Jersey girl.” I didn’t know if it was because I was hormonal and angry and cursing, or if it was my hair. (WHAT? Jersey is KNOWN for hair…right?). She told me it was the fact that I don’t have a filter. Translation: if it’s in my head, it’s out of my mouth. This has been both a blessing and a curse, and I guess my face registered worry because the lovely doc reassured me that I should embrace it. And if I’m not going to let a woman who shoves her hand up my dogs’ butts influence me, then who–WHO?!–shall guide me?!

So this new segment, Oversharing, is dedicated to her. Thank you, good doctor, for being entertained by my crazy and inspiring me to write about the moments in my life that should probably stay tucked away in a private journal somewhere. Eh, where’s the fun in that? I like to laugh and there is no better material than my life. Once a week, I plan to publish an embarrassing or inappropriate moment and I promise not to leave out any of the details. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

*Family and close pals (lookin’ at you, in-laws and brother), if you don’t wish to read about my grooming habits, nudity, and/or various “too much information” type experiences, I recommend you skip over any posts that are titled “Oversharing.”*

And that includes this one:

I work in a virtual classroom, which means I’m attached to my computer 24/7. I’m also attached to the toilet most days because there is something FUNKY going on with my digestive system. I had my gallbladder out a few years back and we thought that would cure my grossness, but it did not. Therefore, I poo. A lot. (See what I mean? OVERSHARING.)

So, during one of my BATHROOM, NOW! outbreaks, I had no choice but to take a meeting while on the throne. Unfortunately for my colleagues, I’m truly an idiot when it comes to technology and when the program we use to collaborate was updated, I was dumbfounded by the different options and features. That’s why, when I logged in, I did so with my webcam.

So…

I’m on the toilet, sweating and dying, and in a meeting. Where people can see me. Hear me. Watch me. You KNOW you’ve had an explosive potty experience. Don’t sit there like your colon hasn’t been there, done that. It ain’t pretty and it can be…loud.

One would think that the webcam’s light that was shining directly onto my slick forehead would’ve been an indication as to what I had done, but please refer back to my earlier “technologically challenged” comment.

I don’t know how long I broadcast my BM, but once I realized what I had done, I signed out of the meeting, citing connectivity issues.

On a related note, when I searched for a photo to accompany this poetry, I Googled “woman in the bathroom.” I found mostly images of sexy women lathered in bubbles or skimpy lingerie. That ain’t me. This is more moi, although I have better hair…

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Oversharing: if you can’t laugh at yourself, you suck.