The Pee Chronicles
I have already mentioned how I can poo pretty much anywhere, right? Well, apparently I can pee anywhere, too.
A few highlights off my pee reel...
Once, while I was about 23, my homie and I got really drunk drinking those big bottles of Club mixed drinks. Clearly they are supposed to be for mixing drinks, but we were ghetto and we just drank them straight up. We somehow ended up in Manhattan Beach. I had to pee and thankfully I had a few napkins stuffed into my bomber jacket from a Dodger game I was a few days before. Amparo was there, laughing and choking on a saladito she was sucking on. Translation for my Caucasian peeps: a saladito is a salted dried plum and they are the bomb. I crouched right down on the sand and peed. I don't even remember where the guys were that brought us there. How sad!
When I was pregnant eight months pregnant with Xixi, I foolishly thought camping would be a fun activity. I didn't anticipate how hard it would be for me physically, in 100 degree heat. I also didn't anticipate how I would handle my pee pee situation, since the pregnant woman's bladder is the size of a peanut. The first night at the campgrounds, I woke up, ready to burst. As I stood outside the tent, I realized the bathrooms were way too far away and dark to travel by myself.
Doood, I wish I had a penis! Not the first time I ever wished that, of course.
I could have woken up Michael to escort me, but I felt sorry for him, his long legs splayed out over the inflatable mattress, with the chil'rens feet stuck in his back. So I resigned myself to handle this on my own. I can just pee right here by the tree, I thought to myself. No one would see me...the moon was full so it was bright enough outside so I wouldn't have to fuss with a flashlight or worry about a bug crawling up into my lady's parts...and I had some wipes, those good and faithful cloths with the ability to wipe up anything. And I do mean anything.
I got it in my head I would just pee in a cup. I don't know why. Don't ask me. Maybe because it would be neater and I wouldn't appear like some savage spraying all over the grass. But I thought a big gulp would be more than enough to hold my pee. Let me just say, I highly underestimated my pregnant bladder. I overflowed the cup, got it all over my hands and the leg of my pj's. Niiiice. I think what made me overflow was the fact that Michael woke up right in the middle of me doing my business and asked me what I was doing. So I started laughing so hard that the pee just kept flowing, despite my best efforts to stop it.
Hello, Kegel exercises?
By the end of the camping trip, I had my midnight peeing rendezvous down to a science. And yes, I did resign myself to spraying on the ground like a savage.
Then there was the time I went to Coachella to see Rage Against the Machine. Only for RATM would I subject myself to filth, heat, tree-huggers and the overwhelming stench of patchouli, armpits, booty and marijuana. We were still in the parking lot when I realized that big Arizona ice tea I nervously chugged (RATM...after eleven years...WOOO) on the way in needed to come out. Michael looked inside a porta-potty and knew I wouldn't be able to withstand the funk of it all. So I found two SUV's parked close to one another. At first I protested...but after about two seconds I told Michael to be my lookout man. I pulled down my pants, planted my sweet ass up against a jeep for balance and did my business. Ooooh yeeeaaahhhhh. The last thing I saw was my butt prints on the side of the jeep.
And now, to tell of my most recent pee adventure. Whilst in San Francisco, or should I say, driving down from San Francisco, when we decided to take the scenic route in complete and utter darkness. Sigh. In retrospect, I knew exactly where I should have peed, but in my excitement I didn't. Two Vitamin Waters, a buttload of pistachios and chile mangoes and Hansen's Natural Sodas later, I was squirming in my seat. Come on, girl, I really have to go. Just pull over somewhere!
Everything was dark and closed, so that somewhere was going to be the side of the road. In preparation, I pulled my leg out of one pant leg, my theory being I wouldn't splash on my pants while I was squatting. So there I am sitting in Amparo's Scion, armed with napkins, with one pant leg off...waiting. When she finally pulled over and turned off her lights, another car pulled in behind us and turned off their lights. Well, that really freaked us out so we skerrrrred out of there.
A few miles later, I announced I couldn't take it anymore. So, she finally pulled over and I jumped out. Again, I used my method of balancing myself by planting my ass cheeks on the side of the car, holding up my bunched pant leg and squatting down. Awwwwwwwwwww.
"Hurry up! Here comes a car!"
I go from peeing very daintily to making a very loud, forceful stream. Which totally jacked up my aim and got my chanklas all wet. Oh, and some of my leg too. I couldn't very well get in the car that way. By that time, the car had passed us by and we were once again in total darkness. So I turned and leaned in the car so I could get something to rinse myself off with.
"Hey, give me a bottle of water! Come on, give me a bottle of water!" I was frantic. All the while, my bare butt cheeks are out for the world to see. I could have been mauled by a bear or something.
And in the process of all that, I think Amparo kinda wet herself, while she was trying to contain her hysterical laughter. But after all that, I felt like a million bucks. What a relief.
For the record, I have never actually peed my pants. Sure, I have sprayed my leg accidentally. Then there are those involuntary squirts while laughing or coughing or sneezing--that whole motherhood hazard. But actually peeing on myself? Never. That I owe to my ability of dropping my pants and planting my buttcheeks against the wall, whenever I need to.