Disclaimer: This article is about a toilet seat scale. I’m going to get pretty mother-effing personal here. So if you don’t want to hear it, go read this week’s “Overheard on Campus” or “How You Do,” and get your CC fix there. Hell, feel free to read my Gossip Girl recap and comment on that.

Yup, they’ve thought of it. The toilet seat scale. In case you don’t have time to stand up and wait about three seconds for your weight to show up. You can kill two birds with one stone by checking your weight and peeing out your recommended eight daily glasses of water at the same time. And everyone knows, we Americans love to multi-task.

That was my initial reaction to the news of the toilet seat scale. Read More »

Farting.

Pooping.

Peeing.

It’s all gross, which is why we do it in the privacy of our own homes. But, when is it OK to stink up your boyfriend’s bathroom or let him in when you’re peeing? Is it ever okay to poop or fart in front of your man? Let’s discuss.

I have been in a relationship for roughly eight months now and, while my boyfriend sees no problem with shoving me in a dutch oven, I personally haven’t been able to pass wind in front of him…yet. He was always very open with his bodily fluids in front of me – and I love him for it (“it” being that he feels comfortable with me, not the smell of his farts suffocating me under the covers). However, men definitely hold a double standard with females regarding the pooping/farting business.

While we haven’t crossed into the “me farting in front of my man” part of our relationship yet, we have gotten into the, “he pops into the bathroom when he knows I’m pooping,” situation. I normally yell and shriek for him to get out and he laughs and gives me my privacy. I don’t care if he comes in while I’m peeing – I have always been comfortable doing around him – but #2 is a whole different story. Read More »

So I’ve got this issue, and I wonder if it’s just a me issue (I tend to have a lot of those), or more widespread.

A couple of times a week, I work at this real fancy office. All high rise, and gold leafing, and Prada shoe stores on the bottom floor. I mean, I had to go shopping for clothes just to feel non-stupid walking into this building. It’s fancy. Midtown New York. Sometimes I even think I see famous people walking the hallways…but I think anyone in a well-pressed suit or 4 inch heels is famous.

Anyway, the fanciness of the building is not my issue. The issue is that in the office where I work, there is only one bathroom. And this bathroom is off a small hallway that is right off of the main receptionist’s (except it’s a guy. Do you call a guy a receptionist?) desk.

Now, I have not been at this place very long, and I’m pretty sure most people still don’t know my name. The point being, it’s not an unfriendly atmosphere, but I’m not exactly walking around in slippers and talking about recent (or non-recent, as is more likely) sexual exploits around the water cooler.

So like, when I have to pee–or, even worse, more than pee–I feel radically uncomfortable and totally talk myself out of using the bathroom until A) I can’t deny my body any longer or B) the day ends and I can rush home and lock the door behind me. Read More »