Case of the Mondays…Repepepepepeat

I’d like to bring you another fan favorite from back in the good ‘ole days when I was a very crabby pregnant chick.

Beware, this post not only involves this Italian chick’s bad attitude but it also details crapping my pants, losing my panties, and, also a reader favorite, conversations with my stalker….


From "Office Space"
Image courtesy of Yahoo Photos

I can’t even begin to tell you all that had gone down in a 24 hour period, but because I can laugh at myself I will tell you this.

I am pregnant – and how I LOVE being pregnant – NOT – and one of the joys of pregnancy hit me on Sunday afternoon.  I pooped my pants.

Seriously.  I’m not shitting you – LOL – I pooped my pants.  WTF you ask?  Well, I went downtown for brunch with my bestie.  After brunch we went back to her place and talked in her sitting room for about 30 minutes before I decided to head back to the ‘burbs.  I had to go to the bathroom, but her boyfriend was upstairs sick and lying on the couch.  I figured I could hold it the 30 minute ride home, no problem.

The ride home wasn’t too bad.  I was listening to Lady Gaga and enjoying the sunshine.  My window was cracked and I was texting away (naughty, I know.)  I exited the highway and was nearing home.  As I turned down my street it was as though it hit me like a ton of bricks.  ‘Shit, I need to shit.  Shit, I need to shit NOW,’ I think.

I put my car in park and ran in the house.  Thank God my husband, who had left the house, left the back door unlocked.  I raced in the door and my dog was under my feet.  I was yelling “Dexter, MOVE!”  I’m trying to set my coffee down, my purse, my keys…I’m running towards the bathroom.  And then it happened.


Honestly, it was so unbelievable and so funny that I wasn’t even upset about it.  In fact, I texted those that I’m close to and said, “OMG, I just pooped my pants! I’m not shitting you, LOL.”  I laughed.

I would think that would be my FML (f*ck my life) for the next year….but then I woke up Monday morning.  After a restless night of sleep the alarm went off.  I felt like I slept a total of 1 hour the entire night.  I was exhausted.

I got up and still half-asleep managed to take a shower and get ready for work.  I decided to throw on the jeans that I wore the night before. (Don’t worry, I wore different jeans Sunday night then the jeans I pooped in.)

Driving to work all that was on my brain was COFFEE NOW.  I pulled into the Dunkin Donuts parking lot.  I get out of the car to walk inside.  There sits my stalker.  Side note – let’s discuss my stalker.  I have a stalker at Dunkin Donuts who loves to talk to me about my perfume, my black “hooker” boots, my love of the Cubs, and whatever else he can get me to talk about with him in the 4 minute trip to get my morning java.

He seems like a nice enough guy, albeit strange.  He once told me that he makes his own coffee at home to save money.  WTF?  And then you still come to the DD parking lot to sit around?  Strange.  But, I decided to have him checked out by a cop friend and he came up clean so I just say hello and keep our conversations to a minimum.

So back to the story, I am walking inside DD on this breezy Monday morning.  My stalker jumps out of his car and says, “Starting Monday off right, huh?”

I think, ‘If only you knew, Mr. Stalker, what the last 24 hours of my life have entailed.  If only….’ But I really smile and say, “Uh-huh,” while I walk in.

I’ve gotta be honest, I was sort of feeling like “the shit” despite my exhaustion that morning.  I was sort of feeling like a “hot mess.”  I was wearing my tight trendy prego jeans and a cute black maternity top.  The maternity top was quite low and when I walked even I was intrigued by my bouncing bosom.

A man and a woman pull up in a Lexus and both give me an odd look.  I think to myself, ‘Daaammnnn, I look so good today that this couple is checking me out!’

Yeah – It gets better.

I get my coffee and am walking back to my car.  As I walk I look down.  I see a pair of black … panties?  WTF, is that a black thong in the parking lot?  I continue to approach it and see a white tag that says DKNY.

HOLY F*CKING SH*T BALLS, that is my f*cking thong!  WHAT THE F*CK!?!?!

On Sunday – after the pants pooping – I showered and dug in my under garments drawer for a pair of panties I hadn’t worn in some time.  My hand pulled out the black DKNY thong.  ‘Holy sh*t,’ I thought, ‘When was the last time I wore this?  I haven’t seen these in forever.’

I was super excited putting them on.  My DKNY thong.  What a purchase.  I remember the day I bought those at Von Maur.  But, let’s not get off on a tangent.

As I step over my thong – far too embarrassed to pick it up – I get in the car and grieve for my DKNYs.  ‘This is a sad day,’ I think. ‘How could this happen?’

It starts to come full circle.  The night before, I came home, ripped my pants off and tossed them on the dining room table.  (Again, I can’t get off on another tangent, but my house in under construction and currently my closet = the dining room.)

This morning – when I’m half asleep and dressing – apparently I never pulled the thong out of the pants?  Apparently I never felt the thong in my pants?  Apparently I never felt the thong fall out of my pants.  Truly mortified I sit in the car in disbelief.

I shout out loud, “Is my f*cking life a joke to you, God?”

He doesn’t answer.  I probably shouldn’t have said f*ck.  Well, so be it.  Good-bye DKNYs.

Fast forward to today.  I’m pulling into the DD parking lot and am certain that my stalker stole my panties to display on his probable shrine of me in his station wagon.  But wait – NO – the DKNYs are there!  They lay in the same spot.  I contemplate this for a moment.  Do I be a pussy and leave this $20 pair of underwear or do I pick them up?

I place my car in park near where the DKNYs sit.  I get out of the car, deep in thought.  What to do…what to do.  As I step out of DD, something comes over me.  I decide I’m taking my life back.  I’m picking up the DKNYs.  I’m just gonna do it!

With my Couch purse on my shoulder and my head held high I walk over to the thong.  I look at my stalker who sits in his station wagon watching me.  ‘F*ck it,’ I think, ‘I want my f*cking panties back!’

With a shit eating grin I smile and bend over.  I pick up the thong and try to stick it in my pocket.  Yeah, well, I f*ck that up to.  My stupid pocket is buttoned close.  I continue to smile and open the door of my Mercedes Benz and sit inside.  I feel an overwhelming rush of true happiness.  I did it!  Holy sh*t, I did it!  I picked up my thong underwear!

I put my car in drive, wave at my stalker and pull out of the DD parking lot – while I scream.