TastyTrixie.com

Posts Tagged ‘education’

I can’t believe I’ve been sitting on (haha) this entry in draft form since December! Please leave comments if you have answers to any of my butthole questions:

I ran out of toilet paper at the cabin (or I almost did, and it occurred to me this detail could prove interesting and worthy of reporting to you).

If I run out of toilet paper, if I forget to bring more next time, I will not immediately run out to get more. The first priority is The Cabin, and the LAST priority of the cabin is personal cleanliness. Of course I still want to be comfortable, and I recognize that I feel more comfortable when I’m not COMPLETELY foul between my legs, so here are some of my options if I run out of toilet paper at the cabin:

For pee I can use kleenex OR just let it moisten my panties OR wipe with the front hem of my shirt (I do this on walks and really, having a few smears of urine on my t-shirt feels kind of fresh and natural to me).

You probably think the main problem will be what  to do if I shit at the cabin when I run out of toilet paper, but shit is not such a big problem. I have soothing moist generic hemorrhoid pads to cleanse my butthole & asscrack which I can follow-up with  an absorbent pat-down provided by a used washcloth I left hanging to dry after my last shower.

Some people keep baby wipes on the toilet tank for that purpose but I think they are overkill: too large, too horribly scented – really quite irritating to sensitive skin. Hem pads are better. Thriftier and more therapeutic. Plus I was always fascinated by those Tucks commercials where they snuff out a burning match by wrapping it in the damp circular pad. To get rid of the BURNING and ITCHING of swollen hemorrhoidal tissue.

I think once I even asked my mom or my dad, possibly my grandparents, if people really did TUCK the pads up in there. Nobody ever answered me with the specificity I desired, but my grandpa told me to NEVER EAT BLACK PEPPER! BECAUSE YOUR BODY DOESN’T DIGEST IT AND HE HAD TO HAVE AN OPERATION BECAUSE OF IT! They weren’t prudes so I don’t think that was why they avoided answering me. I honestly believe it’s because NO ONE REALLY KNOWS.

It seemed like a very interesting adult mystery, the proper application of Tucks. Did people simply tuck them between their ass CHEEKS or did they tuck them INSIDE their assHOLES, leaving petals of white hanging out to pull them out later (I imagine this looking very much like a container, rather than a box, of baby wipes, where you pull the wipe out of a plastic butthole-like opening).

Was I taking the name “Tucks” too literally? If grown-ups really were TUCKING them INSIDE, how long did they leave them in? Did they hang out in the bathroom for a couple of minutes to derive the benefits of the tucking, extracting the pad before exiting, or did they tuck one in there and KEEP it tucked while driving to work, doing laundry, greeting clients, playing bridge, etc.? How many Tucks could you tuck at one time? Or did you use them as a barrier between your finger and your ass to push severely hanging hemorrhoids back inside? Could you apply Tucks in a public restroom or was the process too intimate with telltale sounds, shifting body weight and sighs? Was there an applicator involved like with certain petal-soft tampons? AND WHAT ARE HEMORRHOIDS, ANYWAY?

You might shrug off these questions as obvious overthinking, but I don’t think I was/am. For a course on child abuse in college, I read a story of neglect involving an obese junior high age girl who was a pariah, in part because she smelled horrible. It turned out her parents weren’t mean people, they just were NOT competent and the girl had always had to fend for herself for the most part. Someone had to intervene and teach the girl stuff her parents had not, like how to shower (and how often), how to use shampoo, etc. They sent her to a doctor and it turned out she had many applications of TOILET PAPER AND PAPER TOWELS IMPACTED IN HER BOTTOM. The text didn’t use the word “bottom”, but it did use the word “impacted”. That story has stuck with me all these years and I often wish I could find it again to see EXACTLY what it said, because it’s still so unbelievable and yet rings so true, like I wonder how often this happens to people (there are SO MANY people who aren’t able — for all KINDS of reasons — to teach their kids how to take care of themselves first world stylee, and unless you get to watch someone do it who knows how, how would you learn?). Anyway, if it did say where/to what extent the toilet paper was impacted, it was strange enough that at the time I looked up the word “impacted” in the dictionary to make sure I was really understanding the condition being described, but I still feel uncertain about it: how much paper product can one girl carry around on/in her person? I think there was even a painful extraction process. Anyway, the reason I bring it up is that there are modern conveniences at our disposal to tend to our asses and separate us from feces that some of us actually need to be taught how to use. Some people simply intuit what to do, but for some of us the standard operating procedures are less clear. It is also not always obvious how far you should stick things up your butt or how long you should leave them there.

Bug necklace dangling near Trixie's ample cleavage

Delia knows exactly what kind of thoughtful presents to give me; she brought home the most awesome present for me:

Scorpion gift box

Nevermind what’s inside . . . the box is super cool!

Opening my little bug box

Look at the shiny, iridescent beetle necklace my girlfriend got me!!

A symbol of true love!

There is a special reason why this pendant made Delia think of me; once upon a time I was a beetle breeder.

In elementary school I was always interested but totally lost and intimidated when teachers sprang special projects on us like building rockets, making volcanoes or constructing cameras out of milk cartons. It’s like I was always absent on the days that the secret instructions were handed out telling us to bring money for those brown motors or maybe it was always the OTHER class that got to do those things. I think the mealworm project studying beetle life cycles was one of those things the OTHER class got to do that I was totally jealous of.

So I did the mealworm project at home. Purely for fun.

My mom would never let me have a pet snake so I guess bugs were the next best thing. Not that I was ever totally unafraid of spiders and such, and I *hated* moths, but I was also fascinated by insects and all the little dark nooks and crannies and tunnels they could explore.

I consulted with my friend Ruth (she was in the OTHER class) to determine what supplies I needed: jars with airholes, oatmeal, apple chunks. I captured my own beetles from the base of our old apple tree in the backyard. It grossed my out a little, the way they skittered around so quickly, but I viewed overcoming this fear as a healthy challenge and soon grew to enjoy the tiny tickles of their little black legs scurrying up my arm.

I thought my ability to unflinchingly let bugs crawl on me was an enviable trait to cultivate that would impress people, like when nobody else in my class wanted to hold and stroke a small, velvety black slug during a field trip to the zoo. I don’t remember why the fuck this zookeeper was teaching us about slugs, but I do remember feeling that I’d found a niche where I could jump straight to the top. So what if I failed at rockets and wanted to cry on field day? I could save face by being an imperturbable slug and bug handler! Plus I kind of liked making girls scream and giggle.

In no time I was observing beetle life in all of its stages. The alien-looking pupae were the most disturbingly mesmerizing. I had to increase my containers to hold all of my grubs, pupae and mature beetles. I didn’t have enough covered jars so I just used different bowls from our kitchen and loosely covered them with plastic. Pretty soon the bedroom I shared with my sister started to smell like dusty oatmeal and decomposing apples, but in my role as omnipotent overlord of the beetles I could watch the beetles’ frenzied mating. They were exposed and vulnerable, driven by instinct to procreate in the open on beds of Quaker Oats.

They were also developing genetic defects because of inbreeding. This was a lesson the limited research of the OTHER class never got around to learning! I tried introducing new beetles to the population, but the rate of abnormalities increased. Soon there were albino beetles, pupae with black lesions, slow-moving beetles that failed to thrive and aggressive, kamikaze beetles hell-bent on escaping the bowls of oatmeal.

One day I looked at the bowls full of beetles spread all over my desk so close to our beds and was suddenly horrified by them. I could learn no more from them and they were on the verge of mutiny.

I had to get rid of them FAST before they overran the bowls and poured out in black waves (dotted with albino white) all over our bedroom. I pushed open a window and started flinging beetles and oatmeal outside. I couldn’t dump them quickly enough . . . they were trying to climb back up the wall outside to get in and seek revenge! I kept throwing bowl after bowl of beetles in various stages of life out of the window, shrieking when they clung to the bowl and started climbing up my arm. I cruelly flicked them off with my fingernails, trying to launch them as far away from the window as possible.

It would have been perfect if I could’ve graduated to snakes or lizards because then I could have fed my beetles to them instead of wasting them all like that. Once, when I was a little older, my mom got mad at me when I screamed after reaching into a bag of potatoes in our dark pantry and pulling out a few maggots on a damp spud. I wish I’d have had the presence of mind to point out her hypocrisy, having the balls to chastise me for reacting to a handful of maggots on our food when she had a snake phobia precluding me from having the best pet of all: a beautiful legless reptile to hang around my neck while reading.

Busty buglover still wants a snake!!

Believe it or not, this is not my only story about bug-keeping. I’ll try to tell you about my other bug endeavors one of these days. . .