Inside the mind of America’s (raunchy, foul mouthed, overly opinionated, sexually aggressive, incredibly offensive, fly by the minute, ridiculously absurd, often times erratic, psychologically questionable) Sweetheart.

To Pee… Or Not To Pee….. May 9, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 3:13 pm

That is the question.

And the answer is: Yes. I wish to pee. Every thirty fucking seconds.

I am a professional baby carrier at this point but never have I had a pregnancy where I peed this often. Sure, I had to go a lot with the others, but this is just ridiculous. I’m not exactly sure what in the hell I’m peeing out. I will drink 6 ounces of fluids and then within minutes, I am unleashing, like, a gallon of urine into the toilet. It’s as if the liquid quadruples in volume once in my bladder.

I want a catheter placed. With a fucking Hefty Bag attached to the end of it.

You would think that I should have lost about fifty pounds what with all the running I’ve been doing. And it comes on with almost no warning, either. I will be sitting here minding my business and then… BAM! Runnnn to the bathroom. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.

And for heaven’s sakes… do NOT sneeze.

What sucks the most is gravity. I’ll be sitting down, totally NOT having to pee and then I’ll stand up and almost piss my pants.

Another thing that is weird is that I will have to pee again before I have even gotten off the toilet from the last big pee. Or, I’ll pee, wipe, stand up, pull up my pants…. and have to pee again. Dean finds this stuff funny yet he is sympathetic as almost every night, I enter the bathroom, urinate, come out of the bathroom and walk the 7 feet from the bathroom door to the bed. Then, I will stop, turn around and go back to the bathroom.

It’s horseshit, I tellya. Big, steamy piles of horseshit.

And this one KILLS me…. I’ll know I have to pee… will be hauling ass for the bathroom and then I’ll get there, drop trow and plop down on the toilet and then… nothing happens. I end up trying to assume every position one could possibly manipulate themselves on a toilet in the attempts to shift the baby from whatever position she is in that is preventing my urinating. I’m damn near doing acrobatics just to make it happen. When I finally find the perfect position, I get relief but, dear god, I look like a fucking idiot.

I’m going to get a UTI because I have begun to rebel a little. After being sick to death of getting out of my bed a hundred and fifty thousand times a night, I wake up, tell my bladder to go fuck itself and go back to sleep. At that hour, I am perfectly okay with waking up in a pool of my own piss. It has yet to happen, but it certainly should have by now.

It’s counter productive, really. Having to pee really bad while you’re sleeping keeps you sort of half awake. If I were to just get my fat ass up and go pee, then I’d be able to just go back to sleep. But it’s the principal of the whole thing. I am at war with my bladder and I do not like to lose. I am THAT stubborn.

What’s fun is when you have spent the night rebelling against your bladder and then morning comes and you get up and run to the head and have the longest pee of your entire life. Record breaking pees. I’ll sit there with a stopwatch just timing my pee and after about 45 minutes of straight urination and seven hundred and thirty five preemptive toilet flushes, I will be done.

According to Bart Simpson, Indians used to use their bladders as alarm clocks and the night before they had to wake up very early, they would drink a large amount of water so that their bodies would wake them up at the asscrack of the middle of the fucking night.

I wonder if that’s true. It has come from Bart Simpson so I’m inclined to believe it. He is so very wise.

The people who live here in this house with me all pee, too. Go figure. It’s also a source of annoyance for me, almost moreso than my own bladder issues. As Olivia is potty training and using a potty chair, she has now decided that she can pee in just about any receptacle she chooses so long as she does not pee on the floor. It might be a hat. It could be a bowl or a cup she has taken from the kitchen. It could be a toy. She will pee in it and I will freak the fuck out.

Owen pees, too. On Olivia. This has only happened a couple of times, but it was a couple of times too many.You can read about Owen’s first incident peeing on his sister by clicking here. And then to read about the grand lesson Olivia learned from this event you can click here and visit that link right there. The blue words.

Yesterday, Owen struck again, this time emptying out Olivia’s toy box, putting her in it and then pissing on her like she was in front of a firing squad. There she is trapped in the toy box, covered head to toe in Owen pee and crying. Owen comes out to the living room and says, “Mom… Olivia had an accident and peed on herself in the toy bin.”

Nice try, O.

I go to her rescue and very quickly discover that there isn’t a chance in hell that Olivia could have peed on her own head. I look at Owen. He shrugs. I give him the hairiest eyeball I can conjure up and he says, “What???” as if he has no fucking clue what he has done.

“You peed on your sister.” I say.

“No, Olivia did.” He replies.

Tempted to kick his ass, I instead give him the finger, call him an asshole and rescue Olivia from the toy bin and bathe her. Then, I sit the boy down and explain to him why he can’t pee on people. To illustrate my point, I tell him about R. Kelly and threaten him with the possibility of jail and a bad reputation.

Owen is pretty annoying about peeing. This is because he tries to remain in some form of elaborate costume all day, every day that he simply cannot get himself out of. To top it off, he pess more than anyone I have ever met, so much in fact, that I have dragged him to the doctor countless times to be screened for diabetes. This means that every ten seconds or so, I am having to unzip the kid or do whatever needs to be done to remove him from his costume so that he can go pee. It’s like playing Beat the Clock. I’m fucked if a zipper catches or a button hole is too small. I have a very tiny window of opportunity to free him from the confines of his clothing before I get peed all over. And seeing that he’s usually strapped into a full body Spiderman suit or some other fucking leotard nonsense, this can get pretty tricky.

They need to make superhero suits with ass-flaps.

Fuck. I have to pee.


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