the bathroom stall lady: a new chapter

As I explained before, there is a lady where I work who I have previously referred to as Bathroom Stall Lady.  She grunts, she groans, she moans.  She yearns!!  She poops.  And all of that scares me.  But she can smell fear, so I put on a brave face, wash my hands, and get my ass out of the bathroom before she comes out of the stall most of the time.

But here's my update: After a series of encounters, both accidental and intentional, I have pieced together the clues to reveal her identity.  However, since she works for another organization that shares my office floor, I still do not know her name.  Therefore, thanks to a helpful suggestion from my boyfriend,  she has been given a name: Pooping Witch.

Let me paint a picture: Caucasian woman.  Mid-40s to early 50s.  Short, spiky black hair with dark red highlights.  Burgundy lipstick.  Chalky white skin.  Mostly long gypsy skirts.  Occasionally black dress pants.  White Hanes socks pulled high.  All black, orthopedic platform sneakers.

Some recent encounters:
1.  I once entered the bathroom as she exited.  When I exited she entered again.  Probably to poop.  I dodged 2 bullets.  I'm not going to even tell you what those bullets are shaped like and what color they are.  That's for your imagination.

2. I saw her outside in the daylight one morning while I was walking into work.  Below is a file photo:

I'll keep you posted on any future encounters.  For now I'm just doing my best to learn everything I can about her.  She may not realize it but we are enemies.

Guang Xu: The Musical!!

My boyfriend and I are moving into DC together in June and our future landlord's name is Guang Xu.  I'm not sure he's a person so much as a Broadway musical title.  Haven't we seen this musical before?  Like back in 1980?

Guang Xu!  Starring Olivia Newton-John!  

A love story about a boy and girl from two different worlds!  Guang Xu where time stops and the magic never ends!

Nope, never mind, I'm thinking of Xanadu:

holding the door open

Men: Thank you for holding doors open for me sometimes.

However:  Please do not insist on creating a really awkward situation in which we are both inconvenienced because you insist you have to open the door because you are a man and that is what you are supposed to do because I am a woman.  Please do not pretend like there is any imperative or justified reason anymore to hold the door open and INSIST a woman go ahead of you other than for you to stare at her ass as she walks in front of you.

Sometimes I am carrying a lot of stuff in my arms (boxes, groceries, anvils, multiple bowling balls, several dozen paperweights, bags of sand, etc.) and you hold the door open and let me pass.  That is really cool, thank you!

Sometimes I hold the door open for multiple strangers to pass through into a building and you stop, reach above me and hold the door and insist that I pass under your arm to go through the door.  You look at me like I'm insane and you're ready to challenge me if I give any sort of hesitation on this.  Seriously, I've had men INSIST I let them hold the door.  As though their penis would simply melt off if they let me hold a door for them instead.  Why the fuck do you need to do this?  The door is not made of burning coals and I am not made of paper.  You should just thank me and continue through the fucking door.  It's not 1800.  I can physically handle the amount of effort it takes to hold a door open for a long period of time.  I don't need my smelling salts.  And I don't need you to make me feel feminine, my vagina and my personal gender identity help me with that.

Thank you for listening.  Have a good day.  Really, please, I insist.

mr. hall

I caught up with my dad recently, it had been a while.  He didn't have the best news to share, but when he got past the bad news, he moved on to some light hearted chatting which was less like a dialogue between two people and more like a soliloquy/stream of conscious.  Here are some excerpts I managed to write down and remember.  The italicized parts are where I tried to contribute to what I thought was a conversation:

So how do you like your job?

I really enjoy it so far, a lot better than the last--

That's good.  You know, your sister is the nicest person in the world.  Do you remember that review her company did of her a few years back?  Where they said all those nice things about her?  Sometimes I get it out and read it because it makes me so happy.  I'm proud of all my kids, though.  You put yourself through the University of Maryland, that is a tremendous school, in the top 20, at least, I'd say.

Yeah, dad, actually I think for public universities they are number 18---

Their football team can't seem to make up their mind about their uniforms, though, all kinds of colors.  They're in the big 10 now, too.  They're doing that for the money, though.  Anyways, my minutes are running out, they don't reset until Saturday, so I should probably get off the phone here...

...I'm driving through Charleston right now.  There's a guy with a Redskin jersey walking down the street.  Fletcher jersey.  Line backer.  37 years old and still playing.  Amazing he's still playing.  He's played for like 17 years, he probably has 1 more year in him.  Yep.  RG3.  What a player.  They won their last 6 games or something because of him.  They would've beat the Eagles, too, if he wasn't injured.

Yeah, that shot of his knee in that game was awfu---

Well let me know when you plan on moving to DC.  Give me a call sometime soon.  Your dad's proud of you.  Love you.

way to go, internet

I don't even know how the hell I found this, or where.  But I was cleaning out some computer folders and remembered that I saved this screenshot one day, because it tickled me so.  It's no huge discovery that any asshole in the world can make a website and dole out "facts" and "advice."  This is the internet's version of facts:

"The recent study" which was never named or explained, states that 1/3 of people drink alcohol.  (In the world?  In my apartment?  There are 2 people and 3 cats, so that...couldn't be true in our case, right?  And I can tell you right now, both humans and maybe one cat drink alcohol in our household)  Also, the people who like to drink alcohol are those ones from Europe and Russia.  Nowhere else in the world can there be likers of alcohol drinks.  This is because, laziness.  Bye.

stay regular

I was scrolling through a WebMD slideshow about the importance of water, (what do you do for fun?), and one of the slides really caught me off guard.  Below is the picture they chose to symbolize "staying regular."  You know, pooping.

Way to spell it out for us, WebMD.  Jesus Christ.  Drink water so it can whoosh out of your colon!!

yes to the dress!!

Last weekend I had the pleasure of trying on bridesmaid dresses at the largest bridal clothier chain in these United States.  I'll give you a hint at the name, it rhymes with Bavid's Dridal.  Give up?  It's David's Bridal, you ass clown!

I have to ask, sorry to be sexist, universe, but what the fuck does some guy named David care about bridal gowns?  To David's credit, he created his first shop in 1945 and that was back when men didn't think women could handle much more than GIVING BIRTH TO CHILDREN.  I've never given birth to a child, but I'm pretty sure we can all admit that it looks HARD TO DO, like, I don't know, maybe one of the hardest physical things a human will do in their lifetime?  Anyway, I was in David's Bridal last weekend, trying on bridesmaid dresses for my brother's forthcoming wedding in September (which will no doubt be filled with me politely but actively rejecting the advances of one "swinging"[no really he is a swinger] groomsmen in a kilt who owns one square foot of land in Scotland--no part of this is hyperbole, but that's for another post).

Pretty sure these were my mom's bridesmaids

It was a full house, women running around everywhere.  It was a Saturday in February, wedding season is RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER.  Women sprawled out on couches in the corner of a fitting room area, exhausted. Women smiling dry-toothed, painful smiles at other women trying on beautiful bridal gowns in front of 20+ family members and strangers alike.  Girls yelling at their moms for suggesting they wear a tiara instead of a veil.  I tried on bridesmaid dresses with three other women with boobs like over-sized kick balls filled with pudding, complaining that none of these dresses can successfully house their BIG HONKIN BREASTS.

I went looking for the bathroom with no immediate luck.  I walked over to a back corner and interrupted a party of one older woman with a Pete Rose haircut, surrounded by several 20-something girls trying on bridesmaid dresses.

"Do you know if there's a bathroom back there?"  I asked, pointing to a curtain behind them.

Pete Rose stared at me, eyes wide, darting left to right in exasperation, mouth agape, "Uuuuuhhhhh, I really don't know."

This was clearly not her problem and how dare I ask her such ridiculous questions at a time like this.  That bitch was FRAZZLED.  Turns out there was NOT a bathroom behind the curtain, just boxes and bags and boxes and bags full of--shrunken heads?  Unripe bananas?  AOL disks?  I embarrassingly shuffled away from the corner of stress and doom and finally found the bathroom.

As I'm peeing I hear a loud bell being rung in the building, like a cattle bell or something you ring in a barn, I don't know, I've never lived on a farm.

*RIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG*

And someone came on the loudspeaker for the whole building to hear, "Ladies, she said YES TO THE DRESS!!!"

There I was, hovering over a toilet, urinating and clapping for this mystery woman.

I thought, thank you David, for this moment.  This is what it's all about, David.  Buying expensive dresses, spooking frazzled women who look like Pete Rose, and not being able to pee in peace.