I knew that a lot of things would suck about moving back into my parents house. But what really sucks is when things I didn't even think would suck, suck.
Since I am currently unemployed, I'm forced to do my pooping at home. Were I gainfully employed I'd take care of all my number 2's (and 1 1/2's, you know what I'm talking about) at work. 3 20 minute poop breaks a day= 1 less hour I'm working and one more hour I can read ESPN on my phone and not do boring shit for money. Besides, nothing makes me giggle more than getting payed to poop. I'm a simple man with simple pleasures, don't judge me.
Anyway, since I can't poop at my work that doesn't exist, I have to poop at home. There are four bathrooms in the house. Only two I have deemed eligible to poop in. My parents bathroom is off limits because it's cold and soulless, and even though many corporate "facilities" are as white and tiled as my parents bathroom, I want my home poops to be a little more cozy. I want to feel like I'm deucing in a Mary Engelbreit calendar. The basement bathroom is also ineligible. This bathroom is off limits mostly due to the fact that it has been disregarded for the better part of five years by my family. Unlike my parents bathroom, my concern with the basement bathroom is less about aesthetics and more about the fear of my genitals being mauled by a brown recluse spider.
So with those two eliminated the two left are the upstairs hall bathroom and the first floor bathroom. I truly enjoy the upstairs hall bathroom. It has my favorite shower and it's where I brush my teeth and shave. It feels like home. It has warm colors and a shower door with a lagoon scene on it.
Side Note: Showering in the lagoon shower is awesome. I feel like Pocahontas in that thing.
But my problem with the upstairs hall bathroom is that the door doesn't lock. This bothers me for two reasons. First, the toilet is literally inches away from the door. If someone isn't paying attention or neglects to knock they're gonna burst in right on top of one of my most private and, frankly, spiritual moments. This knowledge makes me constantly uneasy. I can't relax and I end up trying to force everything out as quickly as possible, and that never ends well. I'm supposed to be relaxing not popping blood vessels. The other reason I'm uncomfortable with a door that can't lock is the general vulnerability. I don't like the fact that a murderer could break in and kill me on the toilet. That may seem like kind of a high strung concern but, I mean, this is like six paragraphs about pooping, I take this not so figurative shit seriously.
So although the upstairs hall bathroom, or "The Lagoon" whichever you prefer, is a very cozy, soothing bathroom, the broken lock is a deal breaker. That leaves me with only one bathroom. The first floor bathroom, or as I like to call it "Victoria". Why? Because it kind of looks like a Victorian bathroom (I guess, I really have no basis for that statement). My house was build in the 1920's and this bathroom obviously hasn't been altered all that much (except for the toilet and sink) since it's original construction. It's small, cozy, warm, has a door with a steadfast lock, and a high flow toilet capable of handling even the most fiendish Chipotle aftermath.
Now you may be asking yourself why my pooping situation is so dire if I have his great bathroom to call home. Well, pooping isn't all about the act itself. The peripherals are just as important. The aesthetics are pleasing, but I have no entertainment. Unlike my previous living situations, none of my roommates have subscriptions to Sports Illustrated, ESPN the Magazine, Maxim, Playboy, Home and Garden (that prank kind of back fired, we all ended up LOOOVING that magazine), Hustler, Over 50, The New Yorker, or any other magazine that interests me even in the slightest. I'd even settle for a "Catholic Key". But the only magazine? Golf Digest. As a sports enthusiast you'd think I would enjoy this magazine. Not true, Golf Digest is fucking boring. I like golf, but mostly because it's one of the few sports during which I can drink and not see a dramatic decline in my quality of play.
I have a smart phone, it gets all kinds of fun internet things. But for some reason (maybe because this bathroom wants to be as true to it's Victorian reputation as possible) the bathroom is a service black hole. If you get out a magnifying glass and look very closely at Verizon's 3G network map, you will see, smack in the middle of St. Louis, a little blip on the map where the coverage disappears. That's my pooping bathroom. Luke Wilson was right, Verizon wasn't telling the whole story, and I had to find out the hard way.
So here I am, taking one unfulfilling dump after the next, and I'm not even getting paid for them. I don't know how much more of this I can take.
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