Breakfast: cheerios with lactose free milk
Lunch: I was talked into going to an Indian/Mediterranean restaurant. I got felafel, but I think they spiced it with a little curry. I also had to eat a few bites of someone's butter curry chicken. The result was not catastrophic, but not great either. I'll get to that in a moment.
Before Dinner: Dannon Activia Yogurt and a chocolate chip cookie.
Dinner: homemade pizza on wheat dough (from Trader Joe's). Topped with sliced tomato, mushroms, basil, artichoke hearts, feta cheese (not expired this time) and pine nuts. It was delicious.
The evening involved seven coronas, a few tortilla chips with tostitos nacho cheese in a jar and three chocolate chip cookies.
Exercise: 20 minutes aerobic and weightlifting.
The Deuce Story: This was like a soap opera. Each plot was interconnected and ongoing. I had a small but seemingly complete dump before exercising and after breakfast. Then, the deuce story continued with a bowl filler after the work-out. The deuce drama made a reappearance after lunch, but the story was never told to the bowl. Instead my stomach felt the subtle pangs of a deuce in training, not ready to be released into the wild. On my way home from work, I was able to visualize the release of the goo that was inhabiting the passage way of the lower intestine just short of the colon. I felt the presence within me and felt I needed to share it with the world. But I had other things to do. So my friend lingered there, never becoming impatient, but just letting me know if its presence. Finally, just before dinner, I had an opportunity to set it free. I was surprised at how large it had grown, given that I had just birthed several pounds in the morning. But the release was not as satisfying as I thought. It wasn't separation anxiety like a parent feels before dropping their kids off at college. It was a feeling of incompletenes. As if I wasn't quite through with the task at hand. I took a cab out to a friend's house to consume the aforementioned seven coronas. In this cab I felt rumbles in my stomach and was convinced that I would be forced to go straight for the friend's Le Deucery. But the beer settled my stomach, and the deuce was not to be heard from again. Until the next morning.
How to Enjoy the Deuce Diaries
Like a bad CSI episode, this blog will keep you guessing until the last minute. I will bring to you the past, present, and future of my bathroom emergencies. I encourage you to post your own stories, express your sympathies, or make suggestions to make my life better under the comments after any blog that moves you. If you are looking for the sheer entertainment of the truthful near-deuce (in pants) encounters, then read the "Deuce-aster stories." If you are looking to play the guess what's triggering the irritable bowel syndrome home game, read the "Daily Diet and Deuce Effects" posts which are labeled by date. In these posts, I will describe what I ate and what level of stress or nervousness I was dealing with. But like searching through a big dump after eating a few Chipotle burritos, you will find some kernels of goodness in these posts. This is because my life is a constant adventure. My stomach is like Mount Vesuvius, ready to explode at any moment and bring hell upon any day. Therefore, you just might find another entertaining story about the runs. And you may be Sherlock Holmes and find the way to stop this menace!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment