My stomach is eating itself

Here we go.  You sit up at the edge of your bed and curl up into the fetal position because your stomach has decided to enter a competition entitled, “who can stay on the tilt-a-whirl the longest!?” Virginia either decided she was tall enough for the ride, or simply wanted to get back at you for eating that spicy taco with extra guacamole.  Whatever the cause, today she is pissed.

So there you lay. Clenching your knees that are now burrowed under your chin to pressurize your stomach.  Your husband, boyfriend or maybe girlfriend…rolls over, looks at you and says, “oh that again huh?”  Or, if you have nice siblings like mine they would say, “are you pretending to have a baby?”  Better yet that money question, “is it that time of the month again?”  Here is where Virginia makes me lose all self control and I say, “SHUTUP AND RUB MY BACK! SCREW YOU! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THIS FEELS LIKE!”  After the pulsating vein in the side of my neck relaxes, I realize they had a point.  I was laying there, knees hugged tight, moaning like a dying donkey.  But they don’t understand this kind of pain unless of course, they have a constant spell of diarrhea.

You make it through your morning and arrive at work or in my case, class.  You sit prepared for the day and about ten minutes into the time you entered the building…she gurgles.  Quickly you grab your stomach, hoping no one can hear it.  But it gets louder.  The sound of a hippo choking on its lunch lurks inside your stomach, inflating the pelvic walls with every moan.  The pressure builds and now you have to stand up to give it more room.  It is time to get to the bathroom.  People are staring now, wondering if you are hiding a punching baby gorilla under your shirt because with each step your back hunches closer and closer to the ground.  It’s like you have mastered the standing fetal position.

You reach the bathroom and there is another woman in there.  Both of your stomachs together make a marching band with an exceptional drum-line.  Sweating now, you can hear the music, dun dun dun!  You both look at each other with that oh so familiar look…

Both of you share a pain stricken giggle and make way into the stalls.  This is where my personal experience comes into play.

There I was sitting in the stall and this woman, exploding might I add, hollers over the stall wall first to ask if I had a boyfriend and then to say, “I’ve been with my husband for 14 years.  I think he is cheating on me but I can’t seem to figure out why.”  Elbows on my knees, head in hands, screw squatting, this day has been rough, I say to her, “oh. well that’s unfortunate.”  Having to cut off my bathroom break, I flush the toilet to flush out her discussion of the disintegrating sex life between her and her cheating husband.  As I wash my hands, she leaves me with this piece of advice,

“Staple your legs shut because once you sew a zipper between there, it is much easier for a guy to control when the zipper stays shut or when it unzips.”

Having absolutely no idea what this little bathroom lesson is supposed to teach me I just say through the door, “oh haha..yea I guess so,” and walked out.  Not only was my break to release the hippo, punching gorilla, and marching band interrupted, I now can’t step foot in that bathroom again, for fear she might still be lurking in that stall.

Virginia: 1 You: 0


And this is why teens should not have sexual relations

To be honest, sex was kind of a taboo topic when I was younger.  Now a days it seems to be a regular part of introducing yourself.  I understand this is kind of a heavy topic to start out with but in all honesty, where in the world do some kids get off thinking it is okay to let ‘er ride? Maybe I’m just old school but one doesn’t waste that on just anyone…that’s what college is for.  I mean if one can’t even say the word “condom” then they probably shouldn’t be doing anything that involves the plastic, balloon like disgustingness anyway.  Either way, I digress.

What originally brought this up were three young girls in a Walmart bathroom.  My mom and I were trying to get in and get out because, well, you can only be in there for so long before you have the urge to shower again just get the smell and germs off of you (Not to say that all Walmart bathrooms are disgusting.  They have done a rather nice job of remodeling).  Anyway, one of the girls dressed in her glittery jewelry and pink purse to match yelled from the stall, referencing to Virginia, “does it have two holes or three?”  First of all, how dare she insult Virginia like that.  It is just rude to neglect her presence enough to not know how many entries she has.  And second, the first thing that popped into my head was, “they really didn’t teach you that in school?”  Of course, my mom chimes in and informs the girl of the correct information.  Her two friends stood there embarrassed but in the same time with that awkward half smile and giggle that says, “please answer because I don’t know either.”

Here I am thinking, a person’s “first time” would probably go over much better if he knew AND she knew where to find Virginia.  She’s pretty good at hiding.  This is probably good because she is highly inappropriate and you can’t bring her exposed in public just anywhere.  It is frowned upon by many people.  I’m pretty sure the law doesn’t allow her presence in many places.  But that’s beside the point.  To get back on track, knowing where to find Virginia and how she works as a being is essential to knowing how she is going to act. I hope that poor girl learned a little lesson that day.  And I hope Virginia wasn’t left feeling too ashamed.

For Future Reference…


“Before you walk down the isle you have to ask yourself, if this man was broke, laid up in a wheelchair, and I would have to wipe his butt every fricken hour, would I still want to be with him? If the answer is yes, then proceed down the isle way, and if not, then run…and run fast.”

-Some random lady I met in the bathroom not happy about her twelve year marriage to her husband. “God he sucks.”