I'm really sorry for this. Really, really sorry.

I was just in the bathroom at work and someone was having some seriously wicked bad twosies.

I know. I KNOW. I haven't blogged here in FOREVER and now I'm back talking about smelly poops? I'M SORRY. But. Would you really expect anything else?

I have nothing against people who poo at work. It happens sometimes. No one likes it but there's no controlling it, unless you're like my friend's brother who, when he was younger, used to hold it so long that he wouldn't be able to uncross his legs for fear of letting it all out. The poop. Letting the poop out. He called it "getting stuck" and my friend, his older sister, would try and push him over and "unstick" him, if you will, to try and make him poop his pants, which is totally an older sibling thing to do if you really think about it. I never did anything like that to my little sister. I did, however, tell her that we found her in a basket on the front porch when she was a baby. And that the basement was haunted. And whenever I babysat her and she was being bad, I'd pretend to call my parents and really call Time & Temperature instead. I'd tell the automated voice all of the bad things she was doing until she started crying and promised to be good.

That would last about five minutes.

Anyway, back to the poop stories. The funniest poop story I have ever heard isn't even my poop story. My friend...um, I'll call her Carrie because I don't know anyone named Carrie, except for Carrie Bradshaw but sometimes I wish I didn't know her, like when she's wearing something particularly crazy or she's letting the puns fly fast and furious.

When Carrie (not Bradshaw) was three, her parents took her to the mall. And when Carrie was three, E.T. was very, very popular, but she, like many children, was absolutely terrified of that poor, little alien.

There she is, little Carrie in her purple overalls (creative license) and bright red, bepigtailed hair, wandering the mall with her parents, not a care in the world.

Until she saw him. E.T. Staring straight at her. Like this. Obviously, she was startled. I mean, this (fake) E.T. was as tall as she was and probably seemed more than a little menacing.

So she did what any terrified three-year-old would do in the face of such danger: she screamed bloody murder and then immediately pooped her pants.

Hmm. That's not really that funny, I guess, if you don't know Carrie. I'm sorry you don't know her, she's awesome. Anyway.

I have no point, really, and no real reason for telling poop stories today, other than I had the stomach flu earlier this week so, you know, I've spent a lot of time recently contemplating The Number Two. YOU'RE WELCOME.

this involves a lot of poop talk so don't say I didn't warn you

I already said I hadn't blogged in forever because of my gastrointestinal issues but really that's no excuse because how much energy does it really take to sit up (barely) with my laptop resting on my legs or the sofa or whatever and type up some nonsense? Not that much energy, really, but I still didn't blog. I was sick on Thursday and Friday but went to work anyway (yes, I'm THAT coworker) because why would I want to waste my sick days at home being sick? Please. Anyway, I want to save as many as possible because at the end of the year we get our sick days paid out and I want money, lots and lots of money.

I did try and be somewhat social on Sunday, and went over to my parents' house because they were having people over for pasta and garlic bread. That's right, pasta and garlic bread. Anyway, that ended up being a total clusterfuck because I spent most of the time in the bathroom (TMI) which led to conversations like this one which, when Joe told me about it later, made me recoil in absolute horror for several reasons:

My sister: Where is Jennie?
Mom: She's in the bathroom. She's not feeling very well.
My sister: Oh, is she pregnant?

Um, no. Thanks, though. This, of course, led to several more fun conversations about my stomach issues and non-pregnancy issues which made my head explode about 14 times because FIRST OF ALL, if I want everyone in the world to know my poop business then I will just tell the Internet like a normal person and ALSO I'm not very good at math (anymore) but I'm pretty sure that bad poops does not equal pregnancy. What made it even worse is that I was on my period at that very moment (OOPS TMI). But whatever, according to my mom, I probably had the swine flu. Have the swine flu. One of those.

Anyway, so that was fun. If by fun, you mean, "OMG OMG GET ME OUT OF HERE PLEASE I WANT TO CRAWL UNDER THE PORCH SO I'M ALONE WHEN I DIE OF NON-PREGNANCY-INDUCED DIARRHEA OH YES I JUST SAID DIARRHEA, INTERNETS, GET OVER IT OK?"

Ahem. Then my cousin was all, "hey, Uncle Jim (who is my dad), would you care if Jennie and Joe moved in together before they were married," which was also fun if you're going by the definition above.

The beginning of my week last week was much better, because I had an awesome night of volunteering on Tuesday, which sounds weird because we go there to talk about dead people but whatever, it was good. There were two little girls in my group and they liked drawing and playing with My Little Ponies, so that's what we did and that is why I have My Little Ponies in my car. Also, one of them was talking about how her boyfriend is really short (yeah, she's 5) and how people call him midget and I was like, "oh, I bet he doesn't like that," and she was all, "no, he doesn't really mind," so then I thought, "well, maybe he really IS a midget," but I didn't say that and then she demonstrated how short he is and I was like, "wow, that is short!" and she was like, "yeah, he's not tall like you are," and I wanted to hug her because I haven't been tall since the sixth grade (that is when I stopped growing) and it was the best day ever, you guys. True story.

UPDATE: wind still blows

Heidi and I are still without power, as is much of Dayton. I came to work this morning and the only department that had power was IT, so I worked down there today. Well. This morning. My boss asked some of us to come in and take care of anything pressing and then we could leave. But then! Wouldn't you know it! The power for the rest of the building came on. Dammit. Although, what am I going to do at home? Sit in the dark by myself and cry? Probably. Also, read. But mostly cry.

Things could be much, much worse. I know I'm being whiny. We have hot water, so at least we can shower. I can go to Joe's to steal his internet or in case there's something really important I need to watch on TV. And my parents, who do not have power either, invited us over tonight to grill steaks so they don't go bad. They also have many, many bottles of wine and, while they won't go bad because of the power outage, we should probably drink them anyway. You know. Just in cases.