TMI Thursday: Where I Over Share For Your Pleasure, Vol. 3

The first time I got dragged into the great outdoors, it was just after college. Despite my camping innocence, I instinctively knew to inquire about the bathroom accommodations. I had visions of cleaning myself in a stream and burying my own poo so wild bears wouldn’t track me. Still, I was assured that everything was going to be fine, bears did not live in Central Ohio, and that all I would have to do was squat pee. No problem. Like every woman with a small bladder and a propensity for divey bars, I’ve had years of practice squatting and peeing when intoxicated. But it seems environment really does make a difference. In a bar, there is a toilet seat. Sit on it and you’ll probably come away with a strange ass-flesh eating disease, but at least the toilet is there, acting as a potty guide. Take away the toilet bowl, thrust me among some trees, and my squat pee ability goes to hell.

In the woods, it seems a deeper crouch is required. As I learned, if you don’t hunker close enough to the ground and you happen to have Schwarzenegger-strong pelvic muscles thanks to an inexplicable fear of incontinence that you try to stave off by doing gagillions of Kegel crunches, urine goes flying directly from you waw waw and onto your pants. Over multiple camping bathroom breaks, I’d adjust my bend height, but I never found the angle necessary to avoid potty pants. It seems my inner sense of physics is broken. No matter how much I thought about force and trajectory and wind drag, I would still end up peeing on myself. Plus, every time I would squat more deeply, I tipped over. There is no explanation for this phenomenon. It’s not my thigh muscles. They can support me fine. It just appears I am a freak with no balance. So, I’d squat, tinkle on my pants and then fall over. Yup, camping is jolly.

But wait, there’s more…I theoretically understand what poison ivy looks like. It’s pointy and my inner Girl Scout knows all about “leaves of three, let it be.” Sometimes the plants come with berries or red tips on the foliage, plus, it can grow on vines. In daylight, when I could actually see it, chances are high I would successfully identify the plant. But nobody told me to bring night vision goggles for camping. And without them, all that poison ivy awareness was worth nothing.

On my virginal camping trip, sometime during the night, I woke up with a savage need to urinate. The excessive consumption of Nattie Light had caught up to me. Sans flashlight, I tripped and lurched my way up a small hill where I found a tree I could hug for balance. Earlier in the evening, after my undies had yet again been soaked, I decided commando was the best option. So, that night it was pretty easy to hang my nekkid ass out of my pants, grab the tree, squat and do my business. The next morning, when I went to break the a.m. seal, I dropped trou again. Exposed to the air, my girly bits felt out of whack. Sort of strangely swollen and itchy. So I glanced down.

Seven Loyal Readers, I’m sure you’ve always wondered what poison ivy on the female genitals looks like. Well, let me enlighten you. It was sorta like every VD on the planet took up residence on my hoochie. Parts of me were so swollen it felt like if the Alien was forgoing chest-bursting in favor of my urinary tract. I wanted to rip off my pelvis with my bare hands. It was horrific. Times a million. And sweet God, did it itch.

So, yeah.

I. HATE. Camping.

Advertisements

12 Responses to “TMI Thursday: Where I Over Share For Your Pleasure, Vol. 3”

  1. LiLu Says:

    Oh sweet jesus…

    Just promise me this won’t ever turn into a “one-upping” thing. Because after a few weeks, we won’t have any friends left.

    Mutual Destruction? Let’s avoid.

  2. Lauren Says:

    Oh, holy goodness! Poison ivy anywhere is horrible…but THERE??? Horrifying.

    Blame it on the Natty. It is ALWAYS the Natty!

    Natty is my downfall. Every. Single. Time.

  3. Doug Says:

    1 word: youch.

    These are the stories that make me appreciate being a guy

    You know, maybe I could master the female pee stand, like LiLu… Then this could be avoided in the future…

  4. nicole Says:

    when i was a child i used to get poison ivy so bad that my fingers would swell into bubbles and pop. kinda like bubble gum. or boiling water.

    yeah. dis. cus. ting.

    but on the GINA??? holy crap. my heart goes out to you!

    Your fingers would pop?!?!?! Moses on a cracker. That sound unfun. I think you might win.

  5. TMI Thursday: Where I Over Share For Your Pleaseure, Vol. 3 Says:

    […] Random Feed wrote an interesting post today onHere’s a quick excerptThe first time I got dragged into the great outdoors, it was just after college. Despite my camping innocence, I instinctively knew to inquire about the bathroom accommodations. I had visions of cleaning myself in a stream and burying my own poo so wild bears wouldn’t track me. Still, I was assured that everything was going to be fine, bears did not live in Central Ohio, and that all I would have to do was squat pee. No problem. Like every woman with a small bladder and a propensity for divey […]

  6. suz Says:

    Ew.

    Peeing outdoors is defo an art form. I think I’ve finally mastered it…sorta. Squat and pull the pants back as far as they’ll stretch towards your butt and aim forward. This somtimes ends with pee on the pantleg or shoe, but it’s better than peeing all over youself.

    No that you’ll ever go camping again after THIS! Hahaha.

    I peed my pants when I sneezed a couple weeks ago. Ah, pregnancy…

    How is Baby Suz coming along? Give it a pat for me!

  7. Herb Says:

    Leaves of 3 = bad T.P.

    Now you tell me.

  8. laura Says:

    This is one of many reasons why I avoid camping at all costs.

    Remind me of this next time I consider doing something outdoorsy.

  9. Melissa Says:

    I didn’t know that actually happened to people! I can’t even imagine how bad that must have felt!

    The worst part was actually calling the gyno and explaining why I needed to come in NOW.

  10. J.M. Tewkesbury Says:

    Ah, camping. My idea of camping is the Marriott. Or the W Hotel. Either one. I’m not too particular.

    The only other thing I can say about this is: Ouch. (I know! Original, huh? I’m really adroit and articulate that way.)

    My camping now consists of a cabin and a hot tub and electricity.

  11. lacochran Says:

    At this point:

    “So, I’d squat, tinkle on my pants and then fall over. Yup, camping is jolly.”

    I was laughing out loud and thinking “at least she didn’t get into poison ivy”. Then, I read on. Oy! I camp but only with facilities. Real facilities.

    You are psychic!

  12. kristin Says:

    the very same thing happened to a good friend of mine… except the natty lite led her to wipe with poison ivy rather than just fall into it. It is an experience we still refer to as “Poison Coochie”

    She used a leaf to wipe?!?!?!? Ew. Gross. No.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: