"That's So Shitty"

"The wind blew, the shit flew, and no one saw much for a week or two." --Old Raggedy

Two days ago, I found myself sick to my stomach. I may have mentioned this. I had gone into a ladies room here on campus, entered a stall immediately after it was vacated, and proceeded to gag. It was horrendous, my little cupcakes; you can't possibly imagine my utter torment at having to hold my breath and wait for the poor girl, whose intestinal distress was causing my nasal distress, to get the hell out of the room so she wouldn't be humiliated by my retreat. Which I did, immediately after she left, but not before I gagged and almost had to--hell of all hells-vomit in the very toilet she had profaned. Why in the world people think it's normal to crap in public I will never understand, especially considering the great lengths to which I will go to avoid doing so. Anyway.

That was the first shitty experience. The second, I also told you about, was when, the very same day, a very nice friend turned very, very hurtful, and then proceeded to act like it was no big deal. Great. Super. My world's upside down already, and somehow it's my fault for not being more forgiving. "It's not like you've never done something like that," is what I hear. So this is what it feels like to be the always-wrong one. Wow. Damn. You can't fight it. My crazy sister will be pleased to know someone can now actually sypathize. This is when I take up the motto "You can only trust yourself. And your mom and dad. And sometimes your husband, as long as he makes the coffee. And your friend in Brighton, to whom you never talk." It's a long motto, but functional. So there's shitty #2.

And finally, this morning, the trinity was completed. I had arrived at school with a perfect window to go for a quick wee before class, so in I go to the thankfully-empty stall. I think to myself that this bathroom always smells like a fifth-grader peed on the radiator, but let it go as it's not a direct assault on my nose, as was the previous Poo Violation. As I squat, gracefully avoiding both touching the seat and sprinkling on it, things start to happen. In the next stall over. My cupcakes, I'm still not sure what happened exactly, except to say that I think that I inadvertantly witnessed the birth of the Antichrist today. I'd advise you to lock your doors tonight, but from what I understand about the Antichrist, that probably won't help much. I think garlic and silver bullets, maybe. Or holy water, perhaps. Oh fuck it, we're screwed.