Friday, January 18, 2008

skin grafts from a stranger's ass ...

the world was never colder than when i was in elementary school. my bus stop -- which i shared with a bunch of jackhole mama's boys -- was just a blink under a mile from our house. sometimes i'd "cut through," which meant a waist-deep trek through neighbors' yards. home was up two steep hills, and at 68 pounds, i could take three steps and be blown backward nine steps on the icy incline.

fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, we were allowed to wear dark blue cordoroys under our plaid uniform skirts, so our knees didn't get frostbitten: turn red, then black, the skin eventually ashing away like flecks from a dying log. the exposed bone re-covered in april with skin grafts from a donor's ass. for the entire winter, the hallways of st. pius x were filled with the sound of levi's cordoroy friction, the whoshk-whoshk-whoshk of citizens who read at a fourth-grade level. it's a wonder there weren't more fires. or at least chafing.

on the coldest day in the history of planet earth, minnesota, my bus driver dropped me off a blink under a mile from our house. as the bus drove away, i realized i had a problem. readers, i had to pee. which was the quickest way home? through the back yards grunting like the arctic snow monster from scooby doo season one episode eight? or bumble up these hills like the downward spiral of an anorexic drug addict broken gymnast from an after school special?

back yards. seriously, i had to pee.

twenty minutes later, my legs are so cold they're burning. snot-cicles are stalagtites on my chin. my tear ducts are gurgling with something the consistancy of mr. misty. if i could see through the thin film of ice on my eyeballs, i'd see that my house is just half a block away. i trudge on.

our driveway is about 15 feet long, 60 degree incline. at the top i have to walk over mashed potato-like snow mounds, along the side of the house to the garage door and attempt to open the door while wearing mittens. a hip check to the door, and a reminder to myself to NOT LICK THE METAL DOORKNOB! [again]. in the garage, i have to fumble around for the key we have hidden under the first of the 14-steps up to door.

standing there, staring at the steps, calculating the time it will take to unlock the door, return the key to the bottom of the steps, run back up the steps, get inside, take off my boots, get into the bathroom, shut the door, unbutton my cordoroys ... my bladder gives out. it's like this poor little pink bubble had been holding its breath as long as possible, and now, so close to the bathroom, it just plum gives out.

i stand in the garage, my legs warmed by the outburst, the floor, my shoes, my socks soaked. and while i know at the time that i'm too old to wet my pants, i'm less ashamed than, well, warmed.

two things happened that day: 1) i realized that going to the bathroom when it's cold outside is a good way to warm up; 2) that as long as i told no one about this incident, i could "accidentally" do it again if i had to. since no one ever knew, it was like i had gotten a "get out of jail pee" card.

well, friends. it is supposed to be 60 degrees below zero this weekend. it may be time to cash in a 22-year old voucher i received from a very special little girl.

9 comments:

CDP said...

That might have been the funniest thing I've ever read. And thanks to you, I can also once again hear the swoosh of the corduroy whispering through the hallways of St. John the Baptist (Philadelphia, PA).

Whiskeymarie said...

I was wondering when I'd hear the full story you hinted at long ago...

and is it wrong that I kind of miss the super-sub-zero spells in Duluth. Much like snowstorms, they seemed to bring out the best in people.

And it was a great reason to stay in all night with movies, junk food and some cocktails.

fannie said...

who are you kidding? you've wet your pants tons of times.

Tim said...

I have no specific comment on your post, I only wanted to stay that I LOVE YOUR BLOG.

As a fellow Minnesotan I know the pain you wrote of all to well. I still live it every day, including today. As a student (yes 30-something, STILL in school) just this morning I had a class that started at 7:30 this morning. Now because I spent most of last night screwing around online visiting mostly non-pornographic sites, instead of, you know, actually reading the material for class the next morning, I had to get up and get to school extra early to pay for my procrastination of the night before.

There is nothing quite like walking the streets of St. Paul, when it's pitch black, not a soul around, and the temp is hovering at a balmy 3 degrees. It brought back memories of long trudges to school as a younger lad, in the cold and the snow and the snot and the ice and the misery and the death.

L Sass said...

But the thing is... after it warms you up it gets so cold!!! This is only a good strategy when you're pretty near home already!

Anonymous said...

"jackhole mama's boys"

are there also:

"christahole daddy's girls?"

--A representative Jack

Beverly said...

I told my kids yesterday afternoon that we were going to spend today in our pajamas and not even think about going outside.
I think I was 8 when I peed in my snowsuit. It must be a part of growing up in Minnesota.

Purple said...

I love this story! But I agree with I sass....peecycles. pee bite. frozen-pee-cracked-cords.

Kristabella said...

I can’t believe you just told the internet you wet your pants. And that you’re thinking about doing it again. Too, too funny!

Although, I wonder, does pee freeze? So is it a good idea to only do that close to home?

I may have to think about this as I will be out and about drinking on Saturday night, with wind chills of -30.