Pee Are The Champions
On top of the poopocalypse, which happens on the regs since I had my gallbladder out a year ago, I am a notorious pants pee-er from way back. I have wet myself in no less than seven states and am fully aware that it’s unusual to have lived over three decades and still not be housebroken.
I am the creative type, I am whimsical, I am a flibbertigibbet; I can’t be bothered to recognize the signs of impending urination. Biology means nothing to a daydreamer. So, I am caught completely unaware each time my tinkle comes knockknockknocking on heaven’s door, just about to let itself out. In fact, I don’t know how I manage to hang onto my chubs when I am a such frequent sprinter. To the bathroom.
When I was in elementary school, I was consistently the best speller in my class. I’ve always had a knack for hearing something and being able to visualize the letters it takes to make that sound happen. Someday, they will find some kind of tumor growing at the base of my brain and it will explain spelling genius in what is clearly a non-genius person. But, when I was a kid, it was the one thing I had that made me unique. In fourth grade, this anomaly took me to the school spelling bee.
Four contestants from each grade sat on the stage of the auditorium/cafeteria in front of the whole student body, who was psyched because they were getting out of class but not psyched at all to be watching a damn spelling bee. There was a constant buzz of conversation, even though the principal periodically reminded everyone to quiet down. As my competitors got fewer and fewer, I was thrilled to have a bigger audience to myself and was trying to figure out how to work a song and dance number from Annie (The movie, not the musical. Aileen Quinn 4 lyf!) into my next turn at the mic. As Eminem says, “You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow. This opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo”. I was loath to miss my chance to blow and was considering ways to shine like the top of the Chrysler Building when I heard my name called. At the same time, I realized I really had to pee. Or, more accurately, was starting to pee. All over myself.
I approached the microphone as I felt my pants soak through with urine. When I finally arrived at my destination, I realized I wouldn’t be the star of the show, after all, and the only song I would be singing was the blues. And there was nary a harmonica in sight. I stood and finished what couldn’t be undid as I was given my word. It was “aquarium” and I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out how it was spelled, even though I’d studied it. My mistake was not having studied it while standing in a puddle of what was only a few hours ago two cartons of chocolate milk.
I was called out and made to sit back in my seat because I wasn’t really out until the next person spelled their word right. I prayed that they did. And that they didn’t notice the small golden pond of piss they were standing in or the strong smell of hobo emanating from me. Thankfully, the next girl spelled her word right and I made a sad face, while simultaneously being thankful that the whole thing was over.
But it wasn’t. Fate, cruel mistress that she is, had it that I wasn’t going home after school that day, but horseback riding with the Girl Scout troop full of popular, pretty girls that my mom was trying to force me into. Good news: I had brought extra pants for the occasion. Bad news: For some reason I had chosen a pair of red sweatpants that hadn’t fit me in years. They were way too short, the elastic around the “ankle” hitting me at mid-calf, and rolled down under my chubby tummy. They looked like spandex leggings, before spandex or leggings even existed and should NOT have been worn without underwear, which I had to do because I’d ditched my pee-soaked pants and underwear in the school bathroom when I changed. Camel toe, much? Yes. Just picture a ten year old fat girl with a bowl cut and visible labia clomping around clumsily on a horse, while five Farrah Fawcett lookalikes tossed their feathered hair and flaunted their Jordache jeans, which didn’t smell like pee, by the way, and bounced as gracefully as if they had been born into the saddle by pregnant mothers who rode a little too far into their ninth month.
When Charlie’s Angels and I finished riding, I rolled my pants back up over my belly and finally took my sore ass home. I never told anyone what had happened to me but I did notice that my keds smelled like pee and am not sure how the subject of missing pants/underwear never came up. I DO know that I didn’t learn any sort of lesson, whatsoever, and have wet myself maybe hundreds of times since then. In fact, unless I’m at work, I’m almost exclusively a dress/skirt girl primarily so I can shave a few seconds off of my peemergency response time. Plus, it makes it easier to ditch wet panties in a wastebasket and still seem fully-dressed. Even without a smile.
This post was inspired by this over at Sara Swears A Lot. I would hold her vagina, any day.
HeatherVonsj@gmail.com
Oh goodness, I love that you are so okay with this now (even if it must have been traumatizing when you were younger!) It’s been one of those days, so thanks for making me laugh out loud!
Twitter: Elisa_Ashley
/ Jul 13 2010
I…wow. You just….hmmm. I…. ((0.o))
But I am wondering if there’s a connection between gall bladder surgery and poops. Not for me. (ahem) For a…my friend. Yes, my friend. That’s it. Right.
Elisa´s last [type] ..The Harder I Try
Twitter: Beccas4
/ Jul 13 2010
Ok, so even if the peeing thing didn’t start happening to me until after my first child was born, I think you and I might have been seperated at birth!! I love your blog, and I too can visualize words and tell you exactly how they should be spelled. Even if I don’t know the meaning to the word…take that obstreperous!!
Can I just be really weird right now and tell you that I love you and your blog? I do. I just found you the other day and read about the toilet paper torpedo getting kicked out of your pants. (I would have kicked it under something. Kudos to you for picking it up. You’re a better woman than I am.) Now, along with loving and admiring you, I find we are also pee-the-pants sisters. My husband regularly sees me running towards the bathroom with my butt sticking way out, trying to stanch the flow of unrelenting urine. He usually yells, “Hey! How about a little mystery!” but he pretends to never notice the frequent wardrobe changes.
I bet that if you had held your vagina, you wouldn’t have peed on the floor. See? There’s a method to my madness! I’m so excited that you mentioned me. I adore your blog and want to be friends with you and your kids. : )
I just died a little, living that episode through your writing. Exact same thing, except it was a classmates pool party and everyone noticed. Why oh why did I not pee in the pool?
Plus, I think there must be a connection between gall bladder removal and poopocalypse. I have those frequently since ditching the gall baldder.
I owe the bloggess a debt of gratitude. This is my new favorite morning read.
Twitter: subourbonwife
/ Jul 13 2010
This makes me feel sooo much better about that time I shat myself after giving a speech in front of the Optimist Club! Thanks for sharing!
Twitter: pattypunker
/ Jul 13 2010
any post that mentions flibbertigibbet, eminem lyrics, and farah fawcetts is pure gold in my book. you can tell me about any little issue, but you can’t make me not love you.
pattypunker´s last [type] ..she’s wicked in all the right ways
The Farrah “winged” do was forever on my things to master list but my curly frizz would never bow down to the brush and ten thousand megawatt blowdryer.
I feel for that kid in the red sweats sporting the camel toe. I had a nun that once made me hold my skirt over my head until my underwear dried telling everyone that “the baby who wet it’s pants needs to be dry before it sits down”. Then she made a creepy fake baby cry. Thank god that bitch is dead and burning in hell right now.
dufmanno´s last [type] ..Sunday is Worthless
Twitter: tracitalynne
/ Jul 13 2010
ZOMG you can spell, too?! Are you me??? ARE YOU???
Traci Olsen´s last [type] ..I just do what the people on the internet tell me to do
Twitter: jennytalia2009
/ Jul 13 2010
I have a four year old that I’m pretty sure belongs to you
Let me know where you’d like me to send her to
She comes with her own supply of princess pullups
You’re welcome
x
Jenny Talia´s last [type] ..the little mermaids
Jenny Talia -
And my teens would probably think you’re a lot cooler than I. Let’s trade.
Traci Olsen -
I hate bitches who say “I told you so”.
I told you so.
dufmanno -
Oh, god, your mortification included nuns? You win, sister.
Hell is burny.
pattypunker -
I don’t want to make you not love me, just warn you that you might get a little on ya at BlogHer.
Subourbon Wife -
Half of the people who speak to the Optimist Club shit themselves. I’d say you probably fit right in.
jen -
Pool party? Don’t you know that the pool is just a big toilet that doesn’t flush? UGH! Why is life so hard?
Yep, my doc says poopocalypse might never end. I want my gall bladder back.
You are wonderful. Thank you for the lovely compliment.
Sara -
The mention is well-deserved. You keep me in stitches. You are me, fifteen years ago, but I wasn’t confident enough to write about it. xo
Sarah L. -
Where better than a post about pee to talk about love? Nowhere! Thank you so much for the compliment. Please come back, I think I have more funny to get out.
And tell your hubs that the “mystery” you provide is how you make it to the potty without leaving a mess on the floor ALMOST every time.
Becca -
Thanks for being on the Fuck Yeah, Pee! train. I had no idea that women all over were wearing wet panties.
Also, good spellers make good lovers. I made that up but it seems true, right?
Elisa -
Tell your “friend” that my doc said 30% of people have poops after their gall bladder is removed. Also tell him/her that my doc recommended Caltrate w/Vitamin D for it today.
Oh, and it’s okay to admit to poops. In fact, it’s gotten me a lot of readers.
Leah -
I am generally accepting of my quirky body at this point. Even when it’s leaking. Thank you for reading and commenting!
Pee are the champions has to be one of the best titles ever. Thanks for bringing back the childhood pee trauma, must go shove it back down with some chocolate. I’m very glad to only be a sneeze pee-er now, but allergy season’s a bitch!
neeroc´s last [type] ..That moment
Oh no! Well it obviously scarred you for life. I was also the fatty-mcChubster in my girl scout troop. It was miserable. All these petite blondes with perfect outfits. What bitches.
OMG, “the bowl cut and the visible labia”- damn you now I am almost peeing myself.
Child #3 caused the can’t-hold-my-pee syndrome to come out full force and I *may* not make it to the bathroom sometimes.
But the gallbladder RUINED the poops for me. Sigh. I didn’t know how good I had it before.
Twitter: mommakiss
/ Jul 14 2010
how the fuck is that – the whole gall bladder / poop thing?? jaysus, i never connected the two, but now that you mention it i’m totally a victim. going on 2 years strong now. yay me.
ahem.
i love eminem. that’s pretty much all i got.
mommakiss -
That shit is real, yo (pun sort of intended, after the fact). We need POOPOCALYPSE tee shirts.
Kendra -
I want my gall bladder back. And my nipples that pointed north. These southbound nips are not what I ordered at all.
Natalie -
I’ve changed my name to Pitstain Boobsweat VonCoochstank, but just for the Summer. Scars are sexy.
neeroc -
3rd Grader: Hey look everybody, Billy peed his pants.
Billy Madison: Of course I peed my pants, everyone my age pees their pants. It’s the coolest.
3rd Grader: Really?
Billy Madison: YES. You ain’t cool, unless you pee your pants.
3rd Grader: Hey look, Ernie peed his pants too. Alright!
Old Farm Lady: If peeing in your pants is cool, consider me Miles Davis.
Billy Madison: OOH. That was the grossest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. Let’s Go.