Actually I should rephrase that- I was reminded, once again why I hate drinking and then having to use the restroom at public events.

Port o potties are the devil.

No really.

Can you think of a more disgusting  area to experience a few seconds worth of having nothing between your special parts and bacteria-filled air?

In case it has been a while for you, or you live in a part of the world where port o potties garner enough respect for people not to take advantage- I’ll go into a little more detail about what the state of the port o potties looked like outside of the football game.

To begin with, people seem to lose all inhibitions when they are in line for a port o potty. I think as a rule people lose about 4 levels of class when they are waiting in line for a bathroom after drinking- but for a port o potty they automatically drop to  about a level 8…1 being the classiest, 10 being a contestant on Jerry Springer.

For  example, there was a very drunk girl behind us who was continuously yelling at people to hurry up.

“I’m 34 years old people! 34!! I can’t hold it like the rest of you.. Hurry UP! Respect your elders!!”

At one point, after vehemently criticizing my friend for smoking menthol cigarettes, she grabbed the cigarette from my friend’s hand and started smoking it. And she had a very large something gross on her lip. Ewww.

The line was never shorter than a twenty minute wait. After my fourth beer or so, I was pretty much just drinking one beer, then going to wait in line so I wouldn’t have to do the “pee dance,” or worse- do the “peed in my pants dance.” The port o potties were on a slant so that the corners of the stall were at least 5 empty beer cans deep. Of course you cannot flush a port o potty (unless there is a secret button that I don’t know about??) so the stench was just awful. After only a few hours, there wasn’t any toilet paper to speak of, so the smarter people were taking paper towels in with them, and presumably just tossing them onto the floor. There was also no sink, so I couldn’t look at a person without imaging a layer of gunk on their hands.

As bad as this sounds, the worst part of the situation was the layer of people’s business that was all over the floor… and on the seat.

Even early in the day, it was apparent that people were unaware of where their pee was going, but once it got dark, it became a bajillion times worse.

This is a particularly sensitive subject for me, as I will admit that I have had my own problems in this particular aspect of using a port o potty.

I’m not  proud of this moment, but I have shared way worse information about myself, so what the hell.

It was a few years ago at the local St. Patrick Days parade. I was in a very long line, and had been waiting for close to twenty minutes. The urge was really starting to get to me and I was getting into that crazy state of mind where I was no longer thinking about what I was saying or doing. The only thing that was going on in my brain were visions of waterfalls and swimming pools, and toilets. Shiny clean white toilets with candles lining the sink nearby.

As I got closer to the front of the line, I noticed that one port o potty had a slight river flowing out from the small opening at the bottom. After a few seconds of watching it flow, I started tapping nearby strangers shoulders and goofily pointing to the port o potty that was leaking. I was quite tipsy at this point and probably started yelling phrases like “That girl is peeing the Amazon and missing toilet!!” I was partially jealous at the amount of liquid that this girl was emitting from her body when I wanted nothing more than to have my turn, but the more abrasive part of myself was content with laughing loudly at the fact that she had so obviously miscalculated her squat.

As she exited the bathroom, the crowd started laughing and attempted to give the girl high-fives,  but she ran away in what I can only imagine, was a drunken shame.

Well you know what they say, karma’s a bitch.

When I finally got my turn, I went into the stall and had to deal with the difficulties of being a girl in a bathroom where sitting down would be an eternal sin. By this point I had to go very very badly… Add in the logistics of squatting in a very enclosed space where there is nothing to hold on to… and the odds are against you.

I guess I must have used a little too much power and simultaneously pulled  my shirt down a little too far as I put my hands on my knees, because what happened in that little box of filth was enough to send anyone into a fit of tears.

Yes, it’s true.

I somehow peed my shirt. The entire bottom half of my shirt was wet, and I had no sink in which to play it off as water. And by making myself the center of attention by making fun of the river pee-er, there was no way I could walk away unnoticed.

So you can see why, after my port o potty pee fail, I really try to avoid them at all costs… for more reasons than one.

Excuse me while I go hang my head in shame.

Not only is it Friday, but I get to leave work at noon today to head to Austin. The only thing that could make this better would be if it were  a payday Friday, and if I didn’t have to drive 4 and a half hours just  to get to Austin.

There is one other thing that’s kind of been bothering me today.

(I almost told this as this week’s TMI story, but realized it was more of a FML tale. So, at least for today- consider it FML Friday.)

I was in the restroom at my house last night, doing my business, when I noticed that my feet were wet. Wet feet in the bathroom are never OK, unless someone has recently exited the shower. (We all know that guy who doesn’t pay attention care where his pee might fall.)

After I had successfully finished my business, I dried off my feet, and bent down to get a closer look at the floor.

Oh. No. The water was coming out from the bottom of the toilet.

I have seen this before, and the outcome is never good. And believe me, I know. I’m the queen of toilet incidents.

The first time I saw water leaking from my toilet, I was a junior in college. I shared an apartment with two other girls, and we were all at the peak of being college alcoholics. I had noticed for a while that our toilet had a little wiggle to it. Every time you sat down you could feel the base rocking, just a little bit. Just like in my current bathroom, a little bit of water would escape from the bottom whenever we flushed. I can only assume that it was damaged by a combination of our drunkeness, and our asses.  Because when you’re a drunk- you have a tendency of just “plopping” down on the toilet with no abandon.

We have to remember that toilets are practically just made out of thick  glass. You have take care of them. You can’t just put anything down them. And you definitely can’t throw all  100 -and- something lbs of yourself down backwards onto the seat of the toilet in a drunken stupor.

Which is exactly what I did.

We had at least ten people over at the time, (because you never do stupid drunk things when you get dropped off at home by yourself) and to be honest, I was really way too gone to remember all the horrible details. All I know is that at some point during the night, I stumbled into the bathroom. I’m not sure if I was actually trying to sit down, or if I slipped on the bath rug and fell into the toilet- but either way it happened.

My fat ass broke the toilet at the base.

Like I said, I don’t remember details- but the way I’ve heard it, (and believe me- I’ve heard all sorts of versions of this story) I ran through a living room full of people  with my pants down around my ankles, ran into my room, dove head first onto my bed, missed, and landed on the floor with my bare ass facing a room full of very confused people.

Next thing they knew, water was gushing into the living room. I don’t know what happened next, but from what I hear- I cried in my bedroom while all of my wonderful friends cleaned the mess. I do know that the carpet had to be replaced and there were giant fans airing the place out for about a week.

That could be a funny story to look back on and laugh about later.

Except…

A couple years later I moved to a new city for work and I was living alone.  I didn’t have many friends  yet, except for a group of very fun, very loud gay boys (who I love to pieces.) One night, after about 6 Mi Cocina Mambo Taxis- we went back to my one room loft apartment, mostly because I didn’t care if people smoked inside.  I guess I should mention that my toilet at this apartment also had a shaky base.***

We were all extremely toasted and playing game of Cranium. I had to pee very badly, but wanted to hurry so I didn’t miss anything. I ran to the bathroom, and attempted to pull down my pants on the way there to save time. As I approached the toilet, I slipped backwards.

And Yes.

I fucking broke the second toilet of my life.

This time I cried in the closet while the gays, very thoroughly, cleaned up the flooding bathroom.

So now you know why a little leak at the bottom of the toilet can really freak a girl out.

We all know bad things happen in threes.

***ok, i admit it. the second incident didn’t involve a shaky base. it was a brand new toilet, in a brand new apartment. my fatass simply broke it. i have no excuse.

F.M.L.

I’ll  leave you with a little more FML this lovely Friday, because you know how I can completely understand body hair issues…And also GloZell is hilarious!

Happy Friday yall!

[There is a video that cannot be displayed in this feed. Visit the blog entry to see the video.]