Toilet Paper…The Shit Has Hit The Fan

Earlier in the week I went on a shopping trip.  It was glamorous, let me tell you.  Among the items on my list was toilet paper.  Everybody poops.  Anyway, as I wandered down that aisle I realized just how confusing toilet paper math has gotten.  It is out of freaking out of hand!

photo credit: The New York Times

It is a Mega Roll?  Well according to the packages 12 Mega Rolls is equal to 24 Big rolls.  But WTF is a Big Roll?  I found the Big Rolls, but then I decided I really only needed a Regular Roll.  I went looking for that and it seems everyone’s shit is out of control, because regular sized rolls don’t exist anymore.

Then I saw that another company offered a Jumbo roll that evidently equals twice the size of a Double Roll, which is just damn confusing.  The Double Roll is apparently twice the size of a Standard Roll, so we are definitely dealing with exponents here people.  Anyway, don’t even try to locate the Standard Roll because it seems to also no longer survive in the wilds of the toilet paper aisle.

Then the really funny math starts when you look at how they describe the types of paper.  Apparently a single square of Premium paper has the cleaning power of four squares from the Regular two ply brand.  This I find terrifying because I fear that means some idiot is trying to wipe his bum with only one square of paper, eww.

But wait there’s more.  The Ripples are fucking magical.  At least that is what it seems, as the packaging says Ripples beat out Quilted squares ten to one.  What ever the hell that means.  But don’t go over and reference the Quilted brand because it will tell you Quilted squares are better for your butt and also cure breast cancer…or they are donating to the research or something.  I don’t know, at this point I had begun to pace the aisle while frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog in captivity.

I would tell you about the Soft and Strong versus Ultra Soft debate, but I think that may induce me to seizure.  Honestly if you want more information, may I direct you to the Good Housekeeping Review and Testing site on the internets. Because apparently toilet paper is now so complex that the wise folks over at Good Housekeeping felt the need to analyze important factors such as absorbency, plumbing response, paper break down, and thickness of all the major brands in order to provide you, the consumer, with the definitive guide to the 20 best toilet papers.  Happy Reading.

This is freaking out of hand.  Somebody find me a Sears Catalogue.  I’m going to put it by the pot and kick it old school one page at a time.

House Rules

My husband has a problem.  He doesn’t think it is a problem, and to tell you the truth, in the beginning neither did I.  Ryan just loves boobs, which works out great because I happen to have a pair.  When we first got married though, I had to set down some ground rules.

Ryan finds it a delightful activity to honk my boobs.  He reaches out with both hands, gives them a squeeze, and says honk in a squeaky voice.  Some women might find it offensive, but they don’t know my husband.  Ryan is just like a kid in a candy shop.  He is goofy and his honks were something endearing.  Until one day.

I was in the kitchen.  It was hot.  Water was boiling and I was chopping away trying to get dinner on the table.  Ryan had just arrived home from work and was very happy to see me.  As I moved from the counter to the stove, knife in hand, Ryan gave my boobs a big ole honk.  Something deep inside me stirred.  I was not in the mood.  I was hot and tired and grumpy, and my boobs were not interested in being honked.

That is the day I established the house rule: Don’t honk my boobs while I’m cooking.  For years I thought we were the only couple that had to have this ground rule.  Any other time of day boob honking in the home is not only permitted, but enjoyed by both parties.  Unless I’m cooking.  In which case back the fuck off; I’ve got a knife.

Then one Sunday evening we were watching cartoons for grown ups on FOX.  That was when the short lived spin off from Family Guy called The Cleveland Show was still on the air.  As Ryan and I watched, Cleveland’s wife Donna, made him repeat our rule.  Suddenly from the television we hear Cleveland utter, “I can’t honk your boobs while you’re cooking.”  OMG we weren’t the only ones!  Sure they may have been cartoon characters, but somewhere there were writers who understood us!

Don’t Be Jealous

This was truly just a fun filled weekend.  What can I say.  I watched Ryan play more Halo, until we looked at his gamer stats and he pointed out the he has been playing the game for 23 days.  Not hours, DAYS!!!  That is when I got up and threw the controller at him while screaming, “I want a divorce!”  Not really, but I may have been thinking that I am clearly the best wife in the whole wide world and I deserve a giant “Kobe Bryant cheating on his wife” sized diamond.  I will settle for some foot rubs though.  Like I say, I am clearly the best wife ever.  Also there may be an ulterior motive as I don’t want him to divorce me when he someday finds all the yarn I have stashed away all over this house.  That is another story though.

Anyway, after that incident I was doing a little housekeeping.  Little being the operative word.  When I discovered one of my plants is randy.  At first glance it looks like just a happy little plant trying to survive with the lack of care it receives from me:


Until you enhance:

plant penises

Ah, yes, there you see it.  A tiny little garden of mushroom penises.  I have grown my own personal penis garden!!!  That’s right bitches, I clearly have an erect thumb!  I can’t wait to see how big they are going to get…for science of course.

A First World Kind of Torture

I suppose I am lucky to live in a place with readily available preventative healthcare.  And living in the US, I am probably also super lucky to have access to health insurance that we can afford.

But dear god I am experiencing one kind of shit storm up in here!

Due to some hereditary good times from the DNA pool, I get to have a colonoscopy every five years starting at the entirely too early age of 30.  So this in number two… pun intended.

The last time I prepped for my colonoscopy my intestines decided that they were not going to play my laxative induced games and they held on to everything until the wee small hours of the morning.  Making for a shitty night with no sleep, literally.

This time however, my large intestine has clearly thrown up the white flag and given an early surrender.  So early in fact that horrible things happened.  Basically I have been on a liquid diet supplemented only by massive quantities of laxatives.  Therefore I am currently a hangry, sharting bitch…who now must do extra laundry…damn-it!

Ugh, I am so glad I have access to get a colonoscopy tomorrow…I guess…