Eclectic Oatmeal


Posted in Uncategorized by Bryan on July 2, 2008

My mother told me to always squat. Never to place my full ass (Doo-pah) on to the toilet seat. She was from Taiwan, where they shit in holes or, if fancier, toilets that dont have any chairs, just a urinal planted on the ground. When she moved to America, she was confused at the fancy chairs with wholes in the middle. What was she supposed to do in this room, eat there? She would sometimes mutter when escorting me to the toilet when I was little. I never understood this philosophy, being born and raised in America. When she wasnt around, I would always sit down on the toilet. Experiencing the ease and relaxation of sitting while I did my buisness.
But I sat one too many times. Someone didnt aim correctly, which landed me in the woes of a Urinary Tract Infection. Even worse, I was still on my mother’s healthcare. So the cat was out of the bag. She glared at me, dissapointedly. I could’ve whiped wrong, been a complete whore, or worse, didnt squat. I can feel the seething disapproving glare. I was the reason she had to clean the toilet seat, I was the reason so many trees died for seat covers. I walked out, took her car (I was twenty years old, I was just a bum.) and drove to the clinic. My doctor, to my horror, was the splitting image of my father. A man as pink as Barbies shoes, with a short brown haircut, and hideously unstylish sideburns. (Would’ve been stylish on someone 30 years younger.) “Okay Ms. Chang, spead them.” I decided to get a pap-smear while there, since I could get a UTI from sitting, I could other horrible diaseases. The inspection commenced, with awkwardness. I could just imagine him spurting out quotes. “You have a UTI, aye?” He was even Canadian, just like Pa. This was too scary to be true, “Can I have another Doctor?”
“Ms.Chang, I ensure you I’m not getting any pleasure from giving you an exam.”
Pleasure!? This caused me to shake and sweat at the idea. “No… You j-just.. remind me of my Dad?” I made this sound as a question after he hit a sensitive area. He flicked his eyes away at the wall, as in a way of laughing at a funny situation. I give a nervous smile and a shrug, he took off his gloves with an understanding grin.
“I understand ya know?”
Damn Canadian.
So I went home that day with a bag of pills that, If I dont drink enough water, will turn my kidneys into crystals or something. If I were more crafty, I bet I could make one of my solid kidneys into a nice diamond. How sheik would that be? A kidney dangling off of my ear, or as a toe ring. If I ever hit a soccer ball with it on it could be recorded in history! I was pondering this goal, clutching the prescription bag in glory of the final goal made. My mother was in the living room knitting chrysthanthanum, giving me a glare only 60 years of taiwanease oppresion can form. I drop the pill weighted bag on the counter, take off my jersey jacket, enter the kitchen. I could hear my mother in the other room knitting.I return to the living room with one of those fake-o bak-o television dinners. I unpeel the wrapper with a final rip, sending the plastic cover hovering away. Another wrong doing, My mother worked in a factory that made TV dinners. Everytime a machine missed the tray with the plastic sheet, My mom needed to scoop it up and put it back into the fell down box, where they put it back into the machine. This happened often, and it gave my mother backproblems. I did this little plastic jumpoff in vein of her worsening back. She gave me a smirk at my little lunchbox rebellion. “I told you so..” could of cooed out of her buck teeth. Fucking Bitch, she should be pissed. I didnt heed her advice, she should be rampaging throughout the house in a Ghangis Kahn storm.
You know what would be revenge? I should pee in her flowers. It would be the perfect plan if it didnt involve squatting. At the thought of an awesome, yet inefficent plan, I place down my T.V dinner and go to the bathroom. I sit triumphantly on the seat, if it were down. I fall through the porclain oval and into a sea which is usually populated by clay boats, but not actual clay. I try to wiggle myself free. I couldnt, that bowl had a grasp on me a person who contemplated living at the worst moment. “MOM!” I screamed, it was instinctive. She was the last person I would ask to free me from the bowels of, well.. a bowel’s rest stop. She came in, with not a sneer or a mischevious grin, but a look of compassion and understanding. She grabbed my hands and tugged. Releasing me from my watery prison. Which hit me, If I hadnt been in seething hatred of her prescence, I would’ve placed the seat down. She didnt even make one comment, If I were her, I’d let my daughter soak for a while, punishment for not listening to me. She let down her laurels and saved me. Sometimes, A mother just has to abandon her hard fought beliefs and love for daughter for who she is. Even if shes a sitter. I wash myself up, walk downstairs. I return the favor, I pick up the plastic film from the ground and she gave me the look of mother-daughter understanding. I throw the transparent paper in the trash bin.
I still dont care what she says. Squatting is just too fucking weird for me.


One Response

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  1. Renee Taylor said, on July 8, 2008 at 4:42 am

    Hi Bryan. Let me know when you finish this one.

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