As we’ve learned about me in past posts (or not because I can’t find those past posts), I have a history of IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome – i.e. explosive diarrhea, painful gas, horrific stomach cramps, etc.). It’s not one of those afflictions you’d ever wish on your worst enemies. [Unless your worst enemy is Glenn Beck or a fan of GB. For those people, I wish hours of painful anal leakage. bygones]
Part of my problem was because of a kink in my gall bladder tube (medical term), so it was removed.
Another problem is/was stress and anxiety-related, so I got on some nice happy pills to calm me the fruck down.
Lastly, pregnancy all-but-cured my IBS issues. Whatever, however that worked, I’m not going to question it. I just appreciate that I don’t end up banging my head on the bathtub walls to dull the pain from my insides at 3am.
…good times…
Not that I miss the trips to the hospital. I once had the privilege to stay in a room with a woman who’d been drinking for the last 11teen years and hadn’t had a bath in 1/2 that long. She crapped on the floor at least once. Her son had a fight with the wall. I had to sit in my hospital bed with an air freshener under my nose.
Since those happy fun times of years spent on the toilet bowl and mapping my route to anywhere knowing exactly where the bathrooms were, I’ve been left with some minimal side effects of the IBS.
Like farting.
And unpredictable shits.
I’m hoping I’m telling you people this with enough time before BlogHer that you’ll forget that I’m the farting/shitting girl, cause if you smell a stink around you, IT WASN’T ME.
I hide my odoriferous gasses.
I drop them in the decorative planters, the hidden corner of the room. I feel bad for all those upholstered chairs I’ve tagged.
At home, it’s a competition of tonal quality and effort. We congratulate our girls on their farting abilities.
But when we’re out of the house, we ladies have special powers to hold our dry anal explosions until no one is around or until we’re in a safe environment where we let the wind fly.
Until today when I had to lie in a massive tube of doom (i.e. MRI scanner) where they ask you 101 questions about genital piercings, eyelid tattoos, and magnets in the brain, I was scared shitless to let a squeaker out of its sphincter for fear of a black hole appearing in downtown Orlando.
Luckily for me and the surrounding Metro Orlando area, we are safe from my assplosions.
This scientist’s official finding: releasing butt gas in the MRI tube does not lead to the apocalypse.
{ 20 comments… read them below or add one }
I am glad that you have your farting under control since we will be in the same small hotel room. Oh and I have a very nervous belly too.
An Awesome post on Mandi Bone´s [type] ..She talked!!!
Between me & you, I feel so, so sorry for the people sharing our hotel room. Seriously, I’d like to apologize in advance to both Patrick and Mandi. I will be packing Febreze plug-ins.
LOL, dude Party in ya’lls room in NYC!!! So sad I won’t be there!
An Awesome post on AmazingGreis´s [type] ..Daddy…
Hehe, sounds like we could host a Fart Party in our BlogHer room! Please, no open flames.
An Awesome post on Hockeyman´s [type] ..First Day of Summer
LOL – farting in an MRI tube – sort of a self-dutch oven. I would have completely cracked up and there would have been yelling…
I just want you to know how much knowing that truly matters to me. Seriously. Not only is it nice to know that I’m not the only person who has concerns about this, it’s really nice to know that I’ll be able to relax at an MRI. Because since I had kids, I really have no control.
An Awesome post on Jerseygirl´s [type] ..Swimming and Other Natural Disasters
I feel bad for woman who feel they can’t fart around their husbands. What do they do? Go into the bathroom every time they have to let one rip? What kind of life is that? A shitty one I tell ya.
An Awesome post on Holly {ArtistMotherTeacher}´s [type] ..Hey Daddio
I always travel with Gas-X, they are mint flavored and take care of smell problems at both ends. Last week my husband and I went to Paris, and for some reason, I either didn’t pack as many as I thought, or had more gas than I planned. Maybe it was because I drank a lot of wine the day before.If you read anything about the French installing air fresheners in the Louvre, now you know why.
On a related note, my son used to get car sick a lot, and my favorite spot that he decorated on the road was the parking lot at Mount Vernon, Virginia.Between him and me, we often drove with the car windows wide open, which drove my husband nuts. Family car trips, good times.
A very brave post indeed!! I fart, but they don’t smell! Honest!
An Awesome post on If I Could Escape´s [type] ..Being still and taking stock …
Awwww sheeeeit. From someone with an IBD (which I REALLY wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy), I feel your pain. I also feel the pain of laying skeered in an MRI tube. I’m just thankful I didn’t have to fart.
An Awesome post on jessica´s [type] ..Words
I have a lot of stomach issues, a husband who loves to eat, a daughter that lives on fast food, two dogs and a cat. So I know ALL about farts.
I am almost a sommelier of methane gas. I can all but tell you in what region the food was grown that produced the stank.
I so have to hang out with you at BlogHer.
An Awesome post on Nona´s [type] ..Banana pudding
Now I want to hump you more.
An Awesome post on Aunt Becky´s [type] ..Iron Man
K, officially need to stop reading your blog at work! Nearly let one slip from the laughage.
The first thing my dad taught my kids to say was ‘pull my finger.’ I grew up with a fear of barking spiders. You’re practically family….
I am a fellow IBS-er, since having my gall bladder removed (also faulty!) a year ago. We have a routine in our family and my teens know we don’t visit new places b/c I don’t go ANYWHERE that I don’t have the map to the bathroom memorized. I foolishly attended a play a few weeks ago and ruined intermission for all the fancy ladies just trying to freshen their lipsticks in the powder room. Texted my daughter from the stall “Why do I leave the house? Ever?”
It’s horrible. I want my gallbladder back.
Can’t wait to hug on you at BH10, dollface.
Dude, pregnancy cured my horrible acid-reflux. We are like miracles of science. People should study us! But maybe with clothes pins on their noses, depends, and barf bags. You know, just in case.
PS. I diagnosed my husband with IBS. Can we get him pregnant too?
An Awesome post on Alex@LateEnough´s [type] ..Cracked.
Oh God. So you were trapped in the tube with your own gas?
I’m so sorry for you.
An Awesome post on Miss Britt´s [type] ..When your kids are old enough to want you gone.
I just thought of a new profession: I will rent myself out as a “plant” that follows you around in a crowded situation. Whenever you let one slip, I will apologize profusely for the change in the air makeup in the room thus divert attention and blame away from you.
The plan for BlogHer:
1. Find Angie.
2. Hug Angie.
3. Tell Angie how fun it is to meet face to face.
4. Call her the farting/shitting girl.
The End.
An Awesome post on Mrs. Call Me Crazy´s [type] ..I didn’t write this on time because I have been trying to get caught up on my Real Housewives of New Jersey. Oh, and some other stuff. Like catering to my husband’s every need for Father’s Day.
I’ve noticed that since I’ve been working from home for a year (read: free to compete with my dogs for stinking up the place) that when I do re-enter society that I’m out of practice on the slow, silent release. Like I’ve returned to 5th grade and must relearn the public tricks all over again… the planter idea has been noted. Oh, and because of my own practice, I won’t let my daughter snuggle her face into any public upholstered furniture…ever.
An Awesome post on Cort´s [type] ..I are food – most of the time.
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