dont poop your pants

so much for exerting yourself though routine visits to the gym. reserve your mornings for sleeping in. you can now afford to hit the snooze button a few more times, grab a coffee, read the paper and make small talk with your friendly and unemployed neighbour.

just watch you dont poop your pants.

its not to say that the fear of shitting yourself isnt sufficient motivation to skip the fries and get a salad, but honestly, is this what we have resorted to? making ourselves vulnerable to a socially crippling situation just to shed those last 10 pounds we reluctantly became friends with in freshman year. i do give alli credit for just putting it out there. so when your sitting at work, mindlessly typing away at your computer and you uncontrollably fill your pants with the mornings breakfast, you cant say you didnt see it coming.

MSNBC: Diet pill’s icky side effects keep users honest

now that we are on the topic of poop, because it is not something you can just bring up whenever you want, when opportunity strikes i like to take full advantage...

i came across this gem of a diagram on wikipedia. seriously, wikipedia what cant you help me with? can you imagine being the young and inspired designer who was commissioned to mock up heaton and lewis' seven varieties of human shit. the title for this well sculpted diagram: entirely liquid. i couldnt have said it better myself.

but pooping these days is serious business. i went to school with the daughter of a shopping channel superstar and founder of one of those muscle massaging machines that you hook up to and effortlessly lose weight, tone and massage those hard to reach places. steph and i were at a dinner, more like an extended interview, for a marketing job at some multinational pop company. im sure we were enjoying the free wine a little too much, because we casually got on the topic of the importance of bowl movements. we talked about shitting like we were fucking experts.

its probably a bad career move and just poor manners to start talking about poo at the dinner table. But the office wasnt even in the city and i couldnt see myself living in the suburbs or commuting an hour each way in toronto rush hour. so we continued our deconstruction of the human digestive system like nobodies business.

steph had just gathered customer testimonials in preparation for the launch of her new line of supplements. There was one women that was so backed up, that each breath, each burp smelt like her asshole. she took stephs detox system and shed her body of ten pounds of crap almost instantly. talk about lightening the load.

although i thought this story was totally disgusting (but in a good way), not everyone at the table took to our choice of subject matter. i dont know why people get so uncomfortable when the number two comes up. i think the whole idea of it is pretty hilarious and amazing even. mainly because its one of the few things we all have in common. everybody poops.

fuck off: so hot right now

what is this world coming to where fuck off is the go-to statement. in the last 2 weeks i have encountered the fuck off in pretty much every scenario i can even think of. where do we see these various f-bombs dropping these days? ah, well i shall tell you:

1. politics
in christopher buckley's semi-recent/ semi-relevant novel Boomsday where presidential candidate (pretty, rich and admirable candidate for generation X) Randolph Kumberling Jepperson IV rebuts the rambling MCain'esque character with a simple fuck off, hailing uprorious approval from his under-30 followers.
2. IM conversations
who knew that a conversation between two lady roommates and best friends talking about who is going to pick up the paper that's going to wipe their communal asses could end in a fuck off? well, me and miss stevie found this out today. don't worry, no one was left in the dog-house.
3. tee shirts
yeah, this was just a ploy to say my new favorite saying again; fuck off sarah palin!
4. the boardroom
well, all i can say is that when one exec says to another, fuck off the walls, they shake. ahem- coffee break anyone?

and with that, my day comes to an end. and, who am i kidding with the "what is the world coming to?" this is great news... we were all thinking it before, i suppose now we just have the balls to say it.

diet coke tastes better in the morning.

after curing a morning of doing absolutely nothing with an oversized bagel, recovering from a night of romantic confusion and way too many cc and diet's, i decided it was time for a change. nicks and i raised the volume on our favorite playlists and rearranged our habitats into perfect spaces. taking advantage of every inch. starting fresh. i was struck with an herbal lift of motivation this am, until about 82% of the way through i remembered just how much i hate folding and packing away. i decided that the pile of clothes added enough to the motif that any further efforts were pretty pointless. watching half a season of gossip girl was a clear winner anyway.

i was so proud of my efforts that i decided i would treat myself to a nice date for two, for one. i picked up some nice cheeses from the local shop; the really potent kind that i can never remember the name of as soon as i get home. i even splurged for the over priced jar of preserved plums and a nice bottle of wine. i truly enjoy a solid night of drinking alone with good food and cable. screw sharing.

as could have been predicted, i got pretty wasted, pretty quickly. when you have no one to talk to, you just end up smoking unnecessary amounts of cigarettes and filling the silence by anxiously chugging back your nice wine. it was probably a bad idea to leave the house in such a state. i was further warned when i could barely walk without running into the few trees lining brooklyns street and fences marking entrances on route to a friends place. but, i persevered and made it to my destination in one cigarette and without puking. it seemed like a winning night.

walking into a room of very few, totally sober people, when drunk, can be incredibly awkward. all that confidence i had mustard by just making it there, completely dissipated. it reminded me of when i voted in the last election. i walked into the local church completely spaced, having forgotten an hour before that my mom was taking me to vote that night. i got so excited to contribute to the political make up of my country that i went right for the booth. it took me a min to figure out why the cardboard voting area, empty, but a miniature pencil, had no idea who i was. this older women with a moustache was kind enough to walk me through protocol. im pretty sure my mom thought i was suddenly retarded.

i managed to pull off sober pretty well that night, i thought. although, my memory may have just been deluded from the bottle of wine and half a six pack. who really knows. either way, i made it through teen witch before wearing out my welcome and stumbling back home, alone, with even more effort than the first time.

i finished my last cigarette, hoping not to get mugged and remembered that i had a whole new world to come home to. no magic carpet or funny genie, but still pretty awesome. i passed out half naked, wrapped perfectly in my corduroy comforter. my sleep felt like butter on popcorn. until, like most nights of heavy drinking, i woke up craving something of substance. diet coke being the usual suspect. at 5 am, half wasted and half conscience, water is the enemy. it doesnt even taste like anything. only the sweet satisfaction of bubbly pop will suffice. i rose with purpose forgetting that my life had been completely rearranged, and walked half naked into my wall, mistaking it for my exit. in a drunken epiphany, i was reminded that with change it takes time to adjust.