Dear Diarrhea: An exerpt from the desk of Sam Pool

10/21:

Dear Diarrhea,

Have you ever stopped to notice that my last name could be "Poo"if you removed the L? Isn't that funny?

Sincerely,

Sam Poo

*********

10/22:

Dear Diarrhea,

Here is a log of today's happenings:


12:45: That one stunk. Smelled like poop.

12:46: That one was loud. Sounded like an elephant.

12:47: Gross, That one smelled like eggs.

12:48: That one smelled like dog food.

12:50: Oh man, I need to poop.


Sincerely,

Sam Poo
**********

10/23:

Dear Diarrhea,

I ate a lot of pickled eggs today. Then I farted. Oh man that stunk. Smelled like poop.

Sincerely,

Sam Poo

Save the Planet, Nuke a Hippy.

The other day I took a lunch break. Fairly typical, I came home and checked my facebook, did some dishes and then warmed up some thai peanut noodle leftovers. I don't have a fucking microwave, because for some reason I thought it would be all classy and hipster to have "real food" that doesnt taste nuked. ME. The girl who doesn't cook. The girl who can't even make an egg or go a day without craving Oreos. My hippy friends always talk about how great it is that they don't own a microwave. These are the kind of people that eat grass. One time I was hanging out with some hippy chick in Eugene and all she did was talk about raw corn and how much she craves it. RAW CORN. I mean, I crave corn too but only of the high fructose variety. I'd also like to mention she was wearing a cape and didn't have shoes on. Raw Corn Girl is the type who shouldn't have a microwave. Not me. Yet for some reason I get these half-baked ideas and run with them.

Let bygones by bygones, I foolishly and prematurely nixed the nuker. Now I live with the consequences. Now it takes 30 minutes to heat up some damn chinese leftovers. By the time I warmed up the food on the stove on this particular lunch break, it was time for me to jump in the car and head back to work. This is because it takes SO FUCKING LONG to warm up food on my stove. I still needed to eat (of course) so I put the food back in it's takeout box and brought it with me in the car.

I sat at a stop light, shoveling my noodles into my pie hole. Then it happens. I hear someone SCREAMING to the left of my car. I look over and it's some frazzled white-haired hippy with a dream catcher hanging from her rearview mirror. She's the one screaming. I don't quite understand what she is saying, but I know she is talking to me. Noodles hanging out of my mouth and into the bowl, I give her a confused look. "WHAT?" I say, as noodles dangle and flecks of food fly from my teeth.

She repeats "YOU'RE MAKING ME HUNGRY!"

Now this is where I start to feel embarrassed. I didnt know anyone was watching me eat. I wasn't trying to eat with class, or with manners, or like someone who doesn't own a microwave. I was just trying to finish my food quickly before I headed back to work! Then this bitch with a "Keep Portland Weird" bumper sticker on the back of her car had to go and comment. NOW I feel awkward. I give her a half noodle smile, tun my head and look forward. OF COURSE this bitch is hungry, she is the reincarnate of raw-corn girl. She's basically raw-corn girl's mom. I bet she is STARVING. She probably doesn't own a microwave either, or does she have time to eat anything but a 10 calorie ear of corn. I hate her. I don't give her eye contact for the rest of the stoplight duration, but I can feel her eyes burning into me, watching me take every little bite. She wants my food. I am MAKING her hungry. She wants me to recognize that she wants my food. Instead I do not look. I wait, and look straight ahead.

The light turns green. We both proceed to take a left turn, except weird hungry lady is too busy looking at my thai takeout and turns into oncoming traffic. I watch her from my mirrors when I notice what she had done. She keeps driving, she doesn't slow down. She keeps driving. She then at the last second slams on her breaks just before SMASHING into a car. and I keep driving. This lady was SO preoccupied with my food that she couldn't even drive straight.

That's what you get for being a fucking hungry moron, HIPPY! Stop eating raw corn and putting corn in your gas tank! Buy a fucking microwave; You're a threat to fucking society.

Come to think of it, she was probably drunk.




pretty accurate.

A three year old's perspective on death:

As we drive past a cemetery, scarlett looks on, puzzled. "That's a cemetery" I tell her. "They bury dead people there."

Scarlett looks and thinks, her brow furrowed and eyes focused, trying to process what I just told her. "Why do they bury dead people?" she finally asks.

"Because, it's just what we do. When people die, they start to stink and fall apart, so we put them in the ground." I tell her.

Scarlett pauses for a few moments more, and then says "I don't want to be buried in the ground when I die. I will get dirty and I will get dirt in my eyes."

I tell her she is probably right, and that she's pretty smart for thinking about things so logically. I tell her she doesn't have to be put in the ground when she dies. Then I explain cremation, which is quite a task to iterate to a young child, but I basically say "It's where dead bodies get burned up and then your ashes get stored in a vase."

Clearly way too close to the beginning of life to think about the end of it, Scarlett stays silent, probably wondering what I could possibly be talking about. I turn up the music again. We continue our car ride to Wal-mart where she runs straight to the Halloween section, and picks out a ghost costume.

Adventures in Bulimia

Once upon a time a young girl sat in her bed, watched Star Wars: A New Hope and munched on delicious Juanitas Tortilla chips. And Oreos. And half a tub of salsa, washed down with some beer and a glass of dr. pepper too. Don't forget the fucking milk with the Oreos, because she does NOT do Oreos without milk.

"HOLY SHIT!" She thought. "My ass is already headed for the hills (or turning into small lumpy mountains, if you will) since I haven't been to the gym in over a month! Instead I have been sitting on my ass, drinking beer and talking shit on Facebook. In fact, I have probably consumed over 1500 calories in the past 30 minutes, and I am STILL kinda hungry! What in the hell happened to my life?! I'd just like to know how a girl like me can get laid when all I do is sit around like Jabba the Hut munching mindlessly like some fatass and not even trying to look good. By the way, is that a fucking salsa stain on my protruding gut? Oh yeah, and cookie crumbs in the bed? forget about it! Don't think I will even change the sheets tonight either, that is WAY too much effort. Much easier to just lay down and weep, since the alarming realization of over-eating-not-so-anonymous is sweeping over me in waves." (She calls this the "sweep and weep", by the way.)

Well, that girl had a thought. A fairly dark, evil thought. A horrid, after-school-special thought. "I COULD probably just throw it up and feel way better about myself" she thought. I mean, she hadn't done it EVER before, so a one time thing would be okay, right? (well, besides after drinking too much alcohol, but that really doesn't get rid of the calories, now does it?) And It's not like she hadn't gagged on plenty of things before, the girl is fairly promiscuous. So that wasn't an issue, right? and REALLY, what is the harm of throwing up just once? Pregnant people throw up like every 5 seconds. AND THEY ARE SUPER FAT. The puking doesn't even HELP them lose weight. Way to fail on everything, breeders. She wasn't going to keep her puke in a container or hide it from her mom or something like in that one movie we all had to watch in health class, so it's okay right? Hmmm.

She just didn't know, should she stay, should she throw?

She threw. That girl took the plunge down her throat with her long bony finger and tossed her chips, salsa and oreos into the kitchen sink. "REALLY A BAD FEELING," she thought as her nose instantly clogged up with mucus, her eyes watered and throat burned like a rotten jalepeno. No amount of water tamed the grossness, but she proceeded to puke again. and again.

...and then old Mother Hubbard's Guttard was bare...but at least she would get boned. She went to bed feeling incred, and woke up a skinny ho.

She probably won't puke up her food again, it was kinda gross.

The End.

PS: Turn to 7:52 if you want a remake of this lovely experience.

Tour de Franzia

Why yes, that IS me in the car. Just a typical Saturday, amirite?

My Mormon Fantasy

Anyone who has talked to me in the past 12 years on the subject knows I have an abnormal obsession with Mormons. I am not myself Mormon, nor is anyone in my family. I did, however, grow up in Utah where I was exposed to more Mormon culture than you can shake a golden plate at. As a child, plenty of my friends were Mormon. My neighbors were Mormon, my town was Mormon, my school was Mormon. Practically everything I did was related within a few degrees of separation from Mormons.

As a result, I was alone on family night mondays, (my family didn't believe in spending time together) I drank homemade root beer at friends houses, had access to about 50 giant trampolines, and had a neighbor with 13 children. I lived in a 9 bedroom house, had polygamists on my block and when I uttered my first swear word in front of my elementary school friends, I think I was excommunicated from a church I knew I could never belong to. (It was actually "FUCK"; I had died on Super Mario Bros. 3. That's a different story, really.) No, I am not making a word of this up. Living the life of a non-Mormon kid in Salt Lake City was not always easy. I was left out of so many things! I didn't get to leave school to go to seminary class across the street, I didn't get a fucking CTR ring, and I didn't get to watch cool shows like "Saturday's Warrior" (Ok, well I DID watch Saturday's Warrior, but I didn't understand it and I still don't fucking understand it.) Yes, life was one of rejection growing up, yet I remained strangely fascinated with the culture.



Seriously though, I love mormons. I even kinda want to seduce one. Especially a mormon missionary on a bicycle. Maybe even two. The other day I was dressing myself up for a night on the town...You know, fishnet thigh highs, short ripped mini skirt, messy sex hair, and 4 inch heels...the typical stuff a hooker wears. (I prefer to call what I wear "hooker-chic" but that's probably just my ego talking.) ANYWAY, I was rushing out the door, my head filled with future fuck-ups and fuck-hims and debauchery all around, when who do you think should approach my stoop but a couple of black-tied, white-shirted, helmet-wearing MORMON MISSIONARY BOYS!!! Not only did I stop in my tracks but my heart stood still as well. They smiled at me, white teeth and blue eyes. Same height, same outfit. Almost identical. Picture those hot twin girls that are on Budweiser commercials, only in Mormon form, and with wieners. And no boobs.

I guess. Nevermind, bad analogy.

ANYWAY, They approach me and ask me about my salvation. Fuck, how can I answer questions like "When was the last time you went to church?" and "Do you think you will go to heaven?" When ALL I can think about is inviting these boys in to make me a sandwich?! How can I take their little postcard with Jesus on it when I want to rip their Mormon underwear off with my teeth and make a dirty gay Madonna-esque video with them?! How can I do ANYTHING but stutter and sweat, since my ultimate sexual fantasy is standing right before me?! I was so close I gave off the smell of perversion and they could see the glimmer of Satan in my eyes!! Fuck, I wanted them so bad. They were talking but I was only looking at their lips. I was smiling but only with nervous, evil intentions. What can I do? How can I get them into my house, onto my bed?! I had to think fast! I opened my mouth, and tried to answer their questions.

That's when I realized the conversation was over, and I had muttered something incoherent and untrue about my faith. (I told them that I went to church, I wanted them to like me!) They must have believed me, despite the fishnets. They turned to walk to the next door, hand-in-holy-hand. Holy bicyclists in a world of heathen Portlanders.

Man, I really messed that one up. And I thought I was charming.

I turned right back inside and rubbed one out. I need to move back to Utah.

Willy Wonka and the Fatty Factory.

I eat like a 300 pound man. This morning My awesome co-worker surprised me with a scrumptious Burger King breakfast. Not only did she bring me those french toast stick thingys (which I like to refer to as "grease sponges"...give 'em a squeeze next time you eat them and you will see why) she also threw in some cinnamon-minis and hashbrown circles. And don't forget the orange juice. I ate it all. 12pm rolled around and because the front desk at my place of employment KNOWS I like to eat, they called back specially to let me know they have doughnuts. HELL YES! I ran to the front desk within seconds to make sure I scored the maple bar.

Last week I ate a box of cookies. In one day. Okay, really over 2 hours. Cut me some slack on that one, some dude I liked had just dumped me. I also had 2 dinners that night. My stomach protruded like I was 5 months pregnant. Gross. Okay, even i admit that was SLIGHTLY overboard.

My dream food is a deep fried twinkie 'longside a cheese-injected hotdog smothered in mustard, relish and ketchup. Don't forget the nachos. Carnival food. That's right mother fucker.

One of my greatest pleasures in life is to eat fast food in my underwear while drunk in my bed, ala David Hasselhoff. Don't hate mother fuckers, I look way better than him in my skivvies:



But don't get me wrong, I don't just love the crap food, I love ALL food. The fancier, the better. I especially love gourmet junk that explodes flavor into my mouth. Yeah, I like that stuff.

The best part is? Fat people HATE ME. You know why? I eat just like them and don't ever gain a pound. YAY I WINS GENETIC LOTTERY. Suck my ass, fatties! I freaking LOVE it when you get mad at me! I work at a gym and nothing gives me more sick pleasure than taking that doughnut from the front desk and walking around eating it in front of all the people who WISH they could eat it, but are far too fat and trying so hard to desperately lose weight. So they watch me, say things like "I wish I could have that!" and I just chuckle and sink my teeth into deep-fried sugar. Then they go home and eat their feelings because some tall lanky skinny hot girl can eat doughnuts all day long and never gain a pound, and they are just fat. You might as well not try, fatties. Food tastes GOOD. I'd rather be fat and fed than fat and starving to death for a doughnut. You're never going to lose weight. Just give up and join me, I'd like you better that way.

Actually, this is a lie. Nothing pisses me off more than a fat-and-proud person. Being gross is nothing to be proud of! The truth of the matter is, you have lost in that part of life, and I have won. BUT that doesn't mean I dont love you, I love hugging fat people. Sooo squishy. And trust me, I have lost in plenty of aspects of life, like being souless enough to write an entry such as this. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some more things I need to go hate on elsewhere besides this blog. And I need to have some lunch.

Nothing a Beer and Seashell can't Fix.

To celebrate my daughter's third birthday, I thought it would be a great idea to take her to the beach. At first I was going to plan some obligated elaborate pizza-play structure party for her, but then i realized the only people who would be at her party would be my friends (since my 3 year old has no friends) and then I realized none of MY friends would like to be at a party without beer and a million children at their knees. And as much as I love kids, I work with upwards of 80 children a day already. There is a tipping point. Not to mention, there is a strong correlation between those pizza places and clowns. And you fuckers all know how i feel about clowns. So, to the beach we went! I recruited my good "mama-friend", kat and her 5 year old daughter. We had a set plan: Hit up Newport, see the free aquarium, then the Ripley's-Wax-Undersea Garden trifecta, and then delicious seafood on the docks, fresh from the ocean. So this morning we got our coffees, and doughnuts, and headed west towards the sea.

The car ride there was not so bad, in fact it was full of optimism. So many words of hope were spoken amongst the mamas and children: "I can't wait to see the diver!" "I'm looking forward to the whale skeleton!" "The octopus is going to be so cool!", "the sky has poop in it!" (that was a quote from Seven, the poop-obsessed 5 year old.) Little did we know the bounds of disappointment that lay ahead! We sped down the overcast freeway, with calls of seagulls in our heads and dreams of bread bowl chowder in our hearts.

We arrived in Newport about 1:00pm. "Hurray!" we all shouted. "Let's go to the museum!" We threw our hands in the air and clapped as we crossed the "strong and industrious" steel and concrete bridge. Seven began to mention something about driving off the bridge and falling to our deaths but we did not let that detour us. I also mentioned that the bridge was comparable to Seven's daddy. I think she agreed. I think Kat might have agreed too. We pulled around the bend and into the aquarium parking lot only to find our first disappointment of the day. A big sign with a pink octopus, mocking us, laughing if you will. "MUSEUM CLOSED TUESDAYS AND WEDNESDAYS."

"FUCK YOU! DAMMIT!" the obscenties run rampant through my head, although they come out as "ah, darn it!"

"What is today?" Seven asks.

"TUESDAY, MUTHERFUCKER! AAARG. BAD FUCKIN DAUGHTER'S BIRTHDAY ASS SHIT FUN RUINED! ARRRG!" or "yeah, it's tuesday."

"No, I mean, is it friday? I want a happy meal."

Kat proceeds to tell yiddle she does not get any Mcdonald's today, instead we are having delicious popcorn shrimp. The thought of popcorn shrimp calms my inner rageathon, and we turn around calmly, and head to out next destination. Oh well, the aquarium is closed, but more fun awaits! The Historic Bayfront equivalent of the Bermuda Triangle! Ripley's! Wax Works! The Undersea Gardens!

We parked and observed our second foreshadowing of the day. The Historic bayfront was torn the fuck up! construction everywhere and the ice cream shop where I once got my period on my white pants was closed down and gone! (I was 13 and it was the 90s, i guess white pants were in.) For fuck's sake! No more ice cream?! I had so many memories at that place. No more popcorn either, just effing great. Oh well.

We avoided some old sea hags and monsters getting in and out of their cars, stepped over some pebbles and finally purchased our tickets. We are told to head to wax works and hurry up because they are replacing the carpet at 3:00. Jesus, way to move us on through. Apparently the whole street is renovating or something. To the Wax Works we headed. Upon entrance we are greeted by an elephant robot or "animatronic." Seven is delighted, Scarlett is hesitant. I knew this was going to be a bad idea. The moment we enter the dark room and see the Michael Jackson replica, I am also scared. Then Seven starts: "MAMA, I WANT DADDY, I HATE THIS, LET'S LEAVE WAAAH" Then Scarlett starts, only in a smaller voice: "mama, let's get out of here, pick me up!"

Really, I do not blame her. There is some scary shit in that place. I know they are only wax but really I kept fantasizing one would come to life and grab me and make me scream. Although it wasn't really a fantasy because I didn't actually WANT that to happen. I didnt want anything to come to life. Especially when I looked into the wax vampire's eyes. I think he creeped me out the most. That or bigfoot. That dude always freaks me out. No, didn't want anything moving. those statues needed to stay put! Unless it was the Johnny Depp wax statue. KIDDING, KIDDING. That guy is a tool. He even came complete with a sign that said "DO NOT TOUCH FACE." Yeah, you would, Johnny Depp. Go make another movie where you play the same character OVER AND OVER why don't ya?!

Anyway, we raced through the wax museum with children wrapped around our necks, and really did not see a whole lot of anything. I was even trying to put on the a brave face. Oh well, Ca-ching.

Of course, after that fiasco, I knew that Ripley's would be similar, only with weirder, scarier things. At one point a rickety mummy opened it's doors and popped out at me. I screamed, Scarlett clinged. Oops. Believe it or Not, I was right! Scare-fest 2010. Ca-ching!

Third stop, was of course the Undersea Gardens. In all my years of vacationing in Newport, I have yet to venture into it's murky depths. Kat warned me at least 3 times before we headed in: "It stinks down there." Truer words have never been spoken. Besides the pungent unclean-fish-poop water smell, the entire basement just felt dirty. Even the diver was dirty. As the show started, he swam around flaunting his fingers in the fluid motion a diver could only do. He fingered the sea anemones like some sort of chronic masturbator. Of course, being the immature pervert I am, I laughed uncontrollably, only to receive stares from the grown-ups around me. My only response to them was "I gotta get me a date with that diver!" He then proceeded to flip the crap around and play with some sort of ancient eel creature, all of it amounting to some sort of case PETA would like to know about. At any rate, it made for a good side-show-circus-ring display.

THEN CAME TIME FOR THE FINALE. THE OCTOPUS. Oh man, I had been waiting for this goodness. Apparently, the WORLD'S OLDEST OCTOPUS lives in the Newport Undersea Gardens. At least that is what their brochure says. Fucking liars. I held my hands in anticipation, waiting to catch a glimpse of those suckers. The underwater soundtrack played, the diver swam around, got his tether caught, and then it was over. "OH well, no octopus today!" the narrator said in her distorted obsolete microphone. And that was it. No fucking octopus.

WHAT THE FUCK. I jusy paid 25 dollars for this piece of shit show and I do not even get to see the star of the show?! I might as well paid to see Metallica and ended up with Winger. Or no band at all. FUCK YOU.

I left the place, starving and infuriated. Oh well, at least next door there was a beautiful restaurant window advertising "FRESH CRAB" and a bay view window, complete with sea lions. We sit down, I order a beer.

"I'll have the crab" Kat says.

"We are out of crab." the waitress says.

"I'll have the bread bowl full of chowder." I say.

"We don't have bread bowls." the waitress says.

WHAT.

I cannot begin to describe the disappointment running through my heart at this point. Just give me my beer already. We reluctantly order the fish and chips and shrimp quesadilla.

The fish and chips arrived after a short period of time, as did the "shrimp quesodilla" The first thing Kat did was pick up a slice of the cheese-and-shrimp combo. The amount of the those pink little baby-toed fucks called shrimp hung down like a 90 year old man's nutsack. That shrimp was packed into the tortilla. Like full of shrimp how a leprechaun's satchel of gold might hang. You get the picture. She took a bite and looked at me in dismal horror. DISMAL HORROR. I took a bite of my 15 fucking dollar fish and chips and it tasted like deep fried water. DEEP FRIED WATER. NASTY MUTHER FUCKER RIPPING ME OFF FOR PEICE OF SHUT NASTY UN-FRESH SEAFOOD BALL LICKER CUNT SACK!

I calmly get up, tell the waitress that it's not her fault, but this is the WORST food of my life. She apologizes, refund our money and we get out of there with the quickness. Ca-ching!!

On our way out of newport we stop to buy the kids stuffed animals, seashells and some ice cream.

Worst Beach Trip Ever! The End.

The Most Action I've Seen all Month:

Coffee creamer never lets me down. Let me also note that the establishment in the background is where I recently got fired. I wonder why?!!

I rilly like u

At the risk of being snickered at, I confess that I participate in online dating. Meh, so what? I kind of like dating people that I normally wouldn't meet, however strange it can be or weird they can get. I am on okcupid and have met a few people from off of there..some of whom can read this! But I kept hearing about this other site called plentyoffish.com, so i took my chances and whored myself out over there in attempts to maybe get laid some time this year. I am pretty sure plentyoffish.com should really be called plentyofilliterateidiots.com. I have received several messages since signing up, you be the judge:

From: Kinslow
Subject: Hi
"U seem rily fun hav u bin to the Shang hi
tunles in P town great the bar is good to
hope to hear from u"


From: Patches15
Subject: Hello Doll
" You may not be a Doctor still bet you can
check me our."


From: IrishOnMonday
Subject: Hi I really liked your profile
"hi im josh, just wanted to say hi. Your profile makes u sound like
a really cool chick, lol. which games do u like to play?

im from tennessee and moved here about 6 yrs ago. I am part irish
and love the color green lol."

(oh you likes the color green? sooo funniez! LOL!!)

From: DichotomousDuck
Subject: Spontaneous?
"Alicia,

Tonight is Friday and it would be
great to have dinner with an
intelligent women.

Dan"


_______

There are more but they are all very similar. Just whet the hell is going on? I can't have sex with these people!!! At least it has entertainment value. :p