Holy F*cking Shitbags Batman, It's HOT!

You wanna know how hot it was last week, kids?

So hot, I ate hummus with my finger (I was hungry too, obviously) because I didn’t have any pita chips, did not want to venture outside in search of pita chips and sure as HELL did not want to turn on the oven to make pita chips.

So hot that I opened my freezer several times to put things in it, only to leave said freezer door open and let cold air blow over my simultaneously dry and sweaty face.

And, more importantly, so hot that I didn’t wanna use my own potty.

Anyone who knows me knows that there are few things I am squeamish about. Burping is funny. I have seen, touched and smelled many icky things during my time as Da Man and I have no qualms with discussing them. Preferably with REALLY delicate people, and the more inappropriate the setting (weddings, people’s parents’ houses, church) the better. I am also bothered by the fact that in the 2-year duration of last relationship, I heard Boy burp once (he claimed it as an accidental hiccup) and I absolutely never, EVER heard him fart.

My family adheres to a particular saying, one that, if you have been paying attention kiddos, I used as a previous blog post.

“It always comes back to poo.”

We could be having a Socratic seminar about the situation in Darfur, or the condition if public schools, or church gossip. Somehow the conversation will somehow make an eventual transition to doody. We’re just those kinds of somistificated peeps

There are however, certain things I AM squeamish about, things that I myself will admit are kind of…well, off.

1.) Being touched by anyone who is not related to me. There are very few exceptions to this rule, and most of them are either female or gay. Everyone else pretty much needs my blessing. If I am familiar with you, I might make the contact as short as humanly possible (a high-five maybe, or a knuckle bump?). If you and I are strangers, expect to get yerself a one-way ticket to I-kick-your-assville. My mom would be happy about this because my don’t-fucking-touch-me-Asshole attitude means I ain’ts no skankalicious hobag.

2.) Dead aminals. I see squished bunnies, mice and lizards on my running trail all the time and it always makes me cringe inside, and on the occasions that they are directly in my path and I don’t see them until the last second, I yelp and leap out of the way so I don’t step on them. I also go around them when driving, or direct Fig over them so I don’t hit them with my tires. I accidentally rode my bike over a baby bird once at the park when I was a kid and the incident has haunted me ever since (read: it gives me the yuckies).
Oddly enough, dead PEOPLE don’t bother me. When I was in the academy one of the happy fun time field trips we took was to the county coroner’s office to watch an autopsy. When we filed into the hallway and I first spotted the little nekked Mexican man lying on the table, for a split second I thought, “Holy guts and ballsacks, it’s Dad’s brother So-and-so!” (It turned out not to be, but the fact that for that second I thought it was and felt no sadness told me what a real cold bitch I is.) Anydangway, we stood around for an hour or so watching this guy get cracked open and various organs and slimy things taken out and measured. After we walked out of the building and piled into the Mysterymobile, I promptly announced I had a hungry and wanted a cheeseburger. With bacon.

3.) Feet. In my opinion, feet beat out armpits, taints, underboobs or any other nasty part of the body you can think of. They are the ugly sisters of hands. Granted, they do most of the work, what with carting my ass around all day and repeatedly being slammed into the ground when I feel like running around, and on occasions when I am bored and I’m going to shower afterward anyfuckingway so everything will invariably be clean eventually, I will take out those little toe separator thingies and put color on my toenails. Mostly because when I try to paint my fingernails I almost always get bored while they dry and try to read, learn sing language, or do origami and I fuck them up. Plus I am Veiny Manlyhands so painting my fingernails pretty colors just looks fucking stupid. But yeah. Dry feet, crusty feet, fat feet, flat feet, fake feet. Grosses me out. On the plus side, for you mens out there, if you decide you hate yourself and want to hang out with me a lot and stuff, this means I will never, EVER ask you to rub my feet because that’s just really gross. That also means however that I will never touch yours.

4.) Warm toilet seats. Growing up, I always wanted to be the first one in the bathroom so I could sit my bare ass on a cool, unsoiled (ha) commode. To me, the fact that it was still cold meant it was sterile and unpolluted by anyone else’s buttgermies. I DETESTED using the bathroom after anyone else. If Jeebuz himself came over and announced he had to blow a holy dookie I probably would have told even the Son of God that no, I did not want to sit on a toilet that felt warm and slightly oily and he was just gonna have to wait, even if that meant I wasn’t getting any fish or bread.

Remember how I first started this post and I mentioned I didn’t like using the potty when it was hot? Well in the span of this entry I wrote about the weather, feets, not being skanky, and the academy. I also talked about poo.

It always, ALWAYS comes back to poo.