Bathroom Trappings

It's not a true fixation on bathroom humor, it is honestly just my life. A couple weeks ago, I heard someone talking on a cell phone as I entered the shared bathroom at work. I was disgusted, but it is becoming more and more common these days, so I just took the far stall away from the talker. I contemplated what would have worked to finish the call maybe 18 months ago - a simple pre-emptive flush, but there are bathroom noises and she's not ending the call. As I was pulling out the toilet seat cover, I realized that I could hear both sides of the conversation not because she was loud and her cell phone was cranked up, but because she was relieving herself on speaker phone. I started to feel offended on top of disgusted, but not enough to walk up a floor to the nearest bathroom - plus by this time I was committed - seat cover in hand.

Bathroom-talker got asked where she was and she answered, "On my way to the lot."
I'm thinking, "Liar!!"
Bathroom-talker: Actually, I am in the bathroom on the way to the lot.
Man-friend: Oh?
Bathroom-talker: Ya, I better get going cause I'm on the toilet right now. (In case you're wondering, she was in progress throughout the conversation).
(Me: OMG! but silently. I decide instead of being a victim to voice my displeasure).
Me outloud: Yes, it's pretty weird to talk on speaker phone in a shared bathroom.
Bathroom-talked: Ya, I better go.
Man-friend: I love you!
Bathroom-talker: I love you!
Me: I love you too!
Man-friend: Who was that??
Me: The person a stall over in the bathroom!
Man-friend: Oh, you ARE in the bathroom! Oh my God...

Call ends nicely and abruptly. I finish washing my hands and leave not wanting to know what the person looks like. My work is done in more ways than one.

A FEW DAYS LATER, KARMA?

There isn't much to the possible karmic sequel, except to admit that I almost fulfilled my career dream of being in Lights & Sirens. I always use the bathroom between classes (an artifact of motherhood - go before you need to). I had a hard time getting the metal door latch closed to lock the stall. Note to readers... if this happens to you, do not keep trying. Find a new stall that closes easily. All was well until I tried to leave the stall about 45 seconds later. No joy. Wouldn't budge... not even with my sweater wrapped around the nob and all my large German woman muscles flexing. :-/ I contemplate crawling under the stall door, but it's low. I think I can make it, but I am always larger than I remember and in no way want to germ myself up nor my backpack. It's a new building where the stalls are small and the building would have to be on fire for me to try to crawl out.

I begin to wonder - who do you call when you're stuck on the bathroom at school? Someone in the bathroom? What could they do - the latch is one-sided anyway. I mean really, the police? Coworker? I can't imagine telling either that I am stuck in a stall at Pepper Canyon. My class is starting and I enter pre-panic phase. I decide to will the door open without any specific plan. I was eventually able to free myself (obviously I am blogging about it - what, you thought a sad ending on this one? ;) by pushing the stall walls out far enough so the door could be moved with the lock extended. Go big-boned genes! I am woman! Hear me RAWR as I run to class.

Apathetic

I used to blog a lot more before I was hit by... oh man, just read the subject.

Heart Breaker

Jon
Originally uploaded by baglady

In case you have the internet in heaven... let them know we need you back here and that it was just a mistake.

Summer Baking Therapy

Peach Puzzle: Serious Food Porn
Originally uploaded by baglady

Tonight I made the Peach Puzzle, from the most recent Cook's Country. I haven't made anything like it before. It's a cross between a cobbler and a pineapple upside down cake, but really not either. You place an empty ramekin in a pie plate face down with seven peaches, drizzle a yummy homemade syrup and top with a biscuit dough. Click through to my other Flickr pics to see the outcome. It was very satisfying to flip it onto a platter and see all of the syrup drain into the ramekin.

The syrup reminded me of breakfasts growing up. Neither my Mom or my grandma buy syrup. They would always make it alongside pancakes or waffles or dutch babies. Homemade isn't as thick, but it has a great flavor and no chemicals. It was also super hot. My grandma still makes hot chocolate on the stove with Ovaltine. I want to say it's making me hungry, but I'm stuffed from eating some of the puzzle.

Call Me Sick

but I think it looks phallic too:



“If it looks like a phallic symbol, someone has a strange perception,” said Shapery, a San Diego-based developer. “You can find sex anywhere if you want to. . . . There's just some sick people out there.”

Open Letter to Mr. Val Kilmer

Dear Mr. Kilmer,

Today at the checkout stand in my local grocery store, I saw the unfortunate tabloid picture of you with your gut hanging over your swim trunks. I still think you are hot. It was probably taken by some jealous paparazzi.


xoxox,
The Baglady

Have a Happy Period!

Have a Happy Period!
Originally uploaded by baglady

A few months ago when applying a feminine product to my undergarments, I found a message scrawled all over the part covering what the manufacturer refers to as the "wings." Never before had such a mundane and even depressing moment been met with such exuberance. I almost immediately wanted to share it with my three readers, but panicked that on top of being an unsavory topic that certifying the occurrence of my period was somehow just completely undignified.

The problem was that every time I thought to blog about this I was on my period. The "Have a Happy Period!" messages would remind me and I would set aside a new adhesive covering to scan. This went on for a good 4-5 cycles and every time I cleaned my counters I had to find a place to tuck that stupid piece of waxy paper.

The latest package I bought does not include this message - no well wishes, just the old boring badge. I was determined to find the paper right then and there (well after I had pulled my pants up) and set out to find the scrap. I tore some of my piles apart and made a mess looking for it. I decided that I had to finally let the world know what was going on in women's sanitary products. I was going to let the blogosphere (gross word) know even if it meant exposing my cycle date. "Let them know! Let them mark their calendars and live in fear!" I thought. Perhaps due to blood loss, I could not find the memento and gave up. In looking to see if someone else had posted a pic, I did find that Always has a whole web site dedicated to this philosophy.

So don't believe me, check it out for yourself. I especially enjoyed the narcissistic philosophy that included, "This is the time when, even if something is even slightly annoying, the world (curly font) should know about it." Isn't that what blogs are for? Now I have TWO excuses. I haven't heard from my sister yet; I hope she enjoyed the ecard I sent her. I am still trying to understand just what kind of person would download the Always background in the "pick-me-up downloads". It's bad enough wearing a small diaper; I definitely don't want to stare at a reminder of it all day.

Sorry to tell you that while I finally found the scrap of paper after cleaning my desk, it is no longer "that time," so friends you will have to be on guard all month as usual.

While I am on this subject, I would like Ralph's to know that they are NOT Costco. When I got my most recent period early and went to the store for more panty liners, there were only three choices. 1. Costco-sized box. 2. Thong liners. WHAT IS THE POINT? (Shaking head) 3. Large(r) woman size. I am big, but not that big and hey, I can just get an adult diaper if it comes to that. I had just done my Trader Joe's shopping and had a full cart, so in addition to being forced to choose the Costco-sized box, I had to put it right on top of all the bags. While I don't mind sharing my period stories with all of you, I just don't want to stand in line behind a bunch of teenagers with over a hundred sanitary napkins. Call me old fashioned.