You’ll probably want to start at 4:35, that’s where things get interesting.
“I poop. I poop a lot—today I have already pooped twice. I love the feeling of pooping and I’m completely engaged with my poop—I wipe and inspect. I’m not going to pretend to think I’m unique in this—all my girl friends do the same. We even sit around from time to time (if from time to time means everyday) and discuss our poop.
You think that’s gross, right? Well, I don’t. I don’t think there’s anything particularly gross about one of our most natural bodily functions (I mean, unless you’re eating it or wearing it as a hat or something); everyone poops. And being aware of it is a way for me to keep up with my body. Is my poop a wet runny mess sputtering out of my ass? Yep, I’m dehydrated; need to drink more water! Is it bright yellow? Woops ate something bad, or I need to pre-empt this cold and down the vitamins! Is it sort of maroon-ish? Those beets really did a number on staining my intestines—what a curiosity!
Girls also poop in front of each other. My girl friends and I joke (but really we’re completely serious) that we’re not real friends until we’ve shared a poop. Girls also poop when they need to poop. I’ll poop in the toilets at a bar or a club or a cinema or wherever—when you’ve got to go you’ve got to go. I’ve got girl friends that have pooped in the ocean (I really want to do it; apparently it feels really weird) and just on the ground in a natural environment, like the bush.”
You can find her whole post here
Today, I journeyed across the campus of my small town Kansas college in search of a place to poop. Every pooping experience is unique and deserves to be carefully considered. Today, I wanted a place where I could be alone and de-stress as I relieved my colon of its heavy burden. Most bathrooms on campus have several stalls and urinals. Even in the least frequented bathrooms, there was a chance that my peaceful time alone would be interrupted and ruined. There was only one safe choice: The Mary Jane Regier. This thousand-year-old, creepy, three story building is known for its solitude. Students only venture into it when they must. The only bathrooms in the building are located on the very top floor in the furthest corner back. I eagerly climbed the stairs of this musty old building (but not too quickly… the dump was brewing nicely and was ready to come out on command). Reaching the top floor, I stopped and looked down the long corridor standing between me and the bathroom. This building’s antique quality reminded me of my great Grandma Mabel’s quaint little home in South Dakota. As I walked quietly down the hallway, peering into each empty, door-less room, I half expected to find my Great Grandmother siting there knitting me a scarf. The shag carpets bordering each room sent my mind back to the days spent baking thumb-print cookies and chasing fire-flies at Grandma’s house. When I reached the bathroom door I remembered why I was there and was more prepared than ever. The MJR bathroom is small but perfectly secluded; one toilet, one sink, and no chance of any unwanted guests. At last, I had reached my throne and I sat down, leaving my troubles behind. The toilet is always a great place for me to catch up with life. I took my phone out and began responding to forgotten text-messages. When that was complete, I decided to simply enjoy the moment. It was a poop the required little strain or effort on my end. I simply exhaled, flexed my stomach, winced my face, and let it flow. With the escape of the poop came the escape of every worry I had, every stressor in my life, and every thought of insignificance. I felt truly human. Wiping was clean and easy: two crumpled up sheets of toilet paper took care of everything. A poop that peaceful will not soon be forgotten. It was not extravagant, not showy, and not forceful. It was simple. I cherish the moments when I can poop in peace.