How An IHOP Saved My Life

It didn't actually save my life. I mean, I would not have died if I had not come across the hallowed home of breakfasts. Let's just say that it saved me from dying in an embarrassment sense.

Anyhoo.....

So, Zoom and I have started to work out/exercise again. She joined the gym I go to (because I've been there forever and I get a ridiculously low rate). If we don't go to the gym, we'll walk to the park or the college or to the Fatburger. Unless there is something good on TV, or the fish are doing tricks, or the bunnies come out to play or it's hot. We're dedicated. You get the picture.

The problem with me is, I am an impulse exerciser. Especially if I haven't worked out for a while. The first time I go back or start again, I go crazy and exercise for 4 hours. My adrenaline gets going and I can't stop. It's even worse now with an iPod, because the music makes me even more stupid/crazy.

So, the other night I go out for a walk by myself. Zoom went to the gym and I went for a walk. Separating us. Bad idea. I make my way to the college (it's about a mile or so) and then stop and have some dinner. I then start walking home and as I am, I am scream singing along with the iPod music. If anyone in the Irvine/Woodbridge area had there window open and could have sworn that they heard a crazy person yoddling down the street, that'd be me. Call it American Idol with no prize or judges. I'm all hyper and singing and when I get the last intersection before the one to our house, I decide I'm going to go the long way home. I proceed to turn right and make my way home the long way. Needless to say, it was CONSIDERABLY longer than I anticipated. This would not have been an issue, had I not had sushi and coke for dinner.

I continue to truck along and am content in the fact that I am exercising that much more to get my fat butt back into better shape. But without warning, it hits me. My bladder and stomach decide to duke it out over who can get me to sprint to the nearest toilet as fast as possible. It is then that I realize how much farther it really is to get to where I thought I knew where I was headed. I start to do breathing exercises to control my bowels. I start to sing more to get my mind off the impending blowout. But, no matter what I did, my mind and body knew exactly how much distance there was to the next toilet. They aligned perfectly to create a rising level or panic and discomfort that would apex just as I was wrenching my pants down around my ankles. I am thinking of ways to squat in the bushes along the road. I am trying to figure out the best angle to hide my naked butt if I have to engage in and emergency trowel drop.

I decide I can make it. I'll keep clenching my bum and I'll keep trying to not think about my bladder exploding.

I make it to the IHOP I knew was there all along. It was just about twice the distance I figured on. I yammer something at the guy at the front of the restaurant and charge into the loo. I fling my iPod off and hang it on the stall door and literally tear my shorts to my ankles just as the passengers begin to unload. I look skyward and thank the heavens that I did not fill my pants. I probably thanked the sky 4 or 5 times. I made it after all.

But.......(no pun intended)

After the initial euphoria of my bowels releasing had worn off, I realized that in my haste, I'd forgotten about my wallet that I'd tucked into the back of my shorts. The shorts I wear to work out in have no pockets, so to take my wallet to buy dinner, I just tuck it in the back of my pants. This is fine, except when you are tearing them off and going butt first toward the toilet. I reach back to feel the shorts to see if the wallet is there. It isn't. Trainspotting thoughts now rush through my mind. I'd made quite a sizeable deposit, and the thought of my wallet/ATM card/money swimming together with this deposit was quite gruesome. I'd simply have to get a new wallet/ATM card/money. I did finally comfort myself in the fact that I made it to the bathroom. At least I hadn't soiled myself. At least I didn't have to move out of town because of embarrassment.

As I sat there convincing myself that I would be fine, I felt something move and shift at the base of my spine. It freaked my out until I realized it was my wallet and it was still stuck to the small of my back via sweat. I'd been sweating so profusely because of the near public dookie experience, that my wallet was literally fused to my skin. Almost fused as it turns out. As soon as I realized what it was it broke loose from me and tried to dive into the murky depths below. But I acted swiftly and shifted back toward the wall and pinched it between my right cheek and the wall.

I was so thrilled with myself, you'd think I just scored the winning goal in Game 7 of the Stanley Cup playoffs. It is amazing how good saving 12 dollars from a poopie demise can be.

On a side note (if only because I can't leave you with thoughts of dookie dancing round' your heads); As I was making my way home I came across a car in the throws of making a left turn. It had it's signal on and everything, but it was just sitting there. There was no traffic. There was nothing obstructing it from continuing on. I couldn't figure it out. I got closer and closer to it, only to realize there were two people hardcore making out in the car in the middle of street. The guy in the passenger seat had literally enveloped the girl driving the car in love. So, as I walked by the car and noticed that the windows were down a couple inches, I let out my best Joey Tribbiani in salute and appreciation. "YEAH YA' DO!!!" I yelped out.

Needless to say our young lovebirds were scared out of their minds. After restarting their hearts, they continued on with their left turn now unobstructed by love.