The Stealth Bomber

Today, my roommate asked me if her guy friend could use my bathroom. I was suspicious, especially when she laughed and said, "We had Willy's burritos for lunch." But, being a generally charitable person, I said yes.

I should have known.

What ensued will haunt me for many years to come: a horrifying, 15-minute digestive symphony, complete with percussion, vocals and an odor, as my classy Aunt Kris would say, that could knock a buzzard off a shitwagon. All the while, my roommate traipsed around the apartment, laughing and joking with the carefree bliss of someone whose bathroom was not being destroyed. I sat cringing on my bed as the carnage continued, wincing every so often at an especially loud or fragrant blast.

And then it got worse. I heard several flushes, a plunger, a few more flushes and the frantic spraying of air freshener. The whir of the fan, the click of the light switch, and then the door swung open and the offender tiptoed out. He did not meet my eyes.

Guess what I did not hear?

Did you catch it yet?

The sounds that were so terribly, terribly absent were the splash of water and the lathering of soap. The sounds of proper hygiene. That's right: HE DID NOT WASH HIS HANDS.

After assuaging my nausea and allowing the bathroom to air out for several hours, I approached the scene of the crime. The aftermath was gruesome. I will spare you the details, but suffice to say I Clorox-wiped every exposed surface of the bathroom and swabbed the toilet with pure bleach. I wiped down the air freshener, the plunger handle, the light and fan switches and the inner and outer doorknobs, all the while thanking the gods of decency that my toothbrush was in a drawer instead of the open air. When I finally finished, I washed my hands three times. I was taking no chances.

I never saw his face, which is probably for the best. I would hate to throw up in public if I ever run into him on the Emory campus. But I hope that, wherever he is, he is properly shamed by his actions. If that guilt will shield just one other person from the psychological trauma of the Stealth Bomber, then he will not have shat in vain.

FML.

Spam blog?

So the other blog I write for on occasion, the SAS blog, has been locked and flagged as a Spam blog. Maybe because there were so many posts from so many different people? I really have no idea, but hopefully it will be unlocked soon.

In other news, I have a great many inappropriate crushes, none of them with any chance of going anywhere: the UPS guy, a tutor at work, etc. I guess to crush from afar is easier than to pick someone with a chance of working out? At any rate, it's fun to look.

Also, to create something of a running narrative (gasp), I almost told TWO people on my list of "things I wish I could tell you but I can't." However, they both said things during the conversation that made me change my mind at the last minute. Damn.

Back from oblivion

Hey, world. I'm back.

Just got home from, well, home (the OP version). The wedding was lovely, and it was fun to see people I haven't seen in a while. Before that, it was July 4, and before that, I was in Wisconsin. The exhausting life of a Midwestern traveler, I suppose.

Anyway, I'm back in the ATL now, at least for the next few weeks. Further updates as events warrant.