Utero Americana

Everything you never wanted #sorrymom [ theuteroamericans.wordpress.com ]

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Am I Tight Or Is That My Sphincter

The Start

That title though...am I right? Since writing Symptoms May Include Awkward, I have received similar feedback from both strangers and friends alike, "I never knew you had anxiety!" To be fair, the feedback wasn't always fed with such enthusiasm to warrant an explanation mark. Using a little artistic license there. ANYWAYS.

Admittedly, I have not actually crapped my pants as often as I allude to doing so. Pants crapping. I use this phrase as an all-encompassing way to describe my panic attacks. Sometimes, it aptly applies to the circumstance. Other times, it does not. Thankfully, the ratio leans more towards the latter. HOWEVER, there have been times...OH...let me tell you....literally. I'm actually going to tell you right now.

But wait...what? The title? I'm so glad you asked! The sphincter is a ring of muscle surrounding and serving to guard or close an opening such as the hole of the butt. SCIENCE. To me, the hole of the butt sphincter is not just a muscular ring, it is a symbol. A symbol of trust that, when challenged with the physiological feeling of panic, betrays me. So there you go. You thought the title was immature. Yeah, a little bit. But it's got science behind it...so poo on you. Maybe actually. 

The Pants Crapping

Episode One. Let's start with the most recent then, shall we? This one makes me giggle. So I had, for lack of a better term, a mid-life crisis. Quarter-life crisis...psyche! I can live forever online. Anyway, I had made a life choice that would hinder other areas in my life. I felt trapped. Like a skunk caught in a live trap...but less angry and more gassy. When panic struck, I ran...I mean, I did more of a puckered shuffle to my truck. But regardless, I was gone. At the time, I told my roommate an all too believable lie, that I was taking a headshot of my brother and I had to leave at once...at 7am...in my pajamas...without my camera. To be fair, I did go to see my brother and a headshot was nearly taken.

Nausea had gotten the better of me and, like the responsible adult I clearly wasn't, I pulled off to the side of the road. Tunnel vision neglected to inform my eyes that a police officer was mere feet from my stumbling feet. And my body's blatant disregard for anything outside of the purge it would soon experience...resulted in my projectile vomiting onto that police officer's car. Hi, my name is Lindsay I projectile vomited on a police officer's car. Try putting that on a dating profile. Actually...as far as I know, that could be on my criminal record. I always wanted a bit of street credibility...but, this would be more like unpaved street shame. So. That's cool.

Oh dear shame...after passing a series of sobriety tests, the officer turned into my conditional counselor. The condition being his hasty departure as soon as he had determined that my emotional state was fit for the road. So, he impatiently waited and heard the ramblings of a 20-something girl belligerently crying with puke on her face. I don't blame his impatience. After all, it wasn't a pretty sight and this wasn't really where American tax dollars well spent. But, he was indeed a trooper for sticking around. Hehe, see what I did there. All the talent, all the time. 

The End.

So, there you have it. The most recent of my many panic induced tales. I was going to attempt to capture all of my most memorable pants crapping panic attacks in one post...but that doesn't seem fair to you. Clearly, each is it's own story. And for better or worse they will be at the forefront of this beautiful embarrassment that is Utero Americana. 

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Failure:Lab - Feel Free To Fail

What is it?

Failure:Lab is an event. More appropriately it is an experience. A single night wherein individuals share their personal stories of failure. It is an unfiltered, raw, and intimate experience whose power lies not just in what is shared…but what is left unknown. No result. No resolve. Just the failure itself. Brief interims of reflection and entertainment allow the audience to react to the story.

Failure:Lab challenges. It provokes. It inspires one to think of their failure in an unconventional way. To embrace it. To learn from it. And to build on it.

What is this?

The sum of my experience. My personal reaction to the experience of persons sharing their stories of personal failures. So yes. Synopsis of a few storytellers and their stories. Key points from the story. And reaction to the story. Maximum effort.

Jamiel Robinson

Founder/CEO of Grabb Local. Urban Innovator. Community Builder. Entrepreneur. Basically, on the forefront of many awesome things. Jamiel's story was the failure of a non-profit. An after school program for Grand Rapids Public Schools aimed at increasing student's GPA's. Jamiel wanted to give students the opportunity to have the life that they choose, not the life that is chosen for them. Academics gave students this freedom and Jamiel helped these students to see that. It failed. For many reasons, the entirety of the non-profit was put on Jamiel. He walked away from the program. 

He walked away. His actual concluding statement. Powerful. Jamiel started this non-profit because of the perpetual failure of the educational system; specifically, in the lives of African American and Latino students. Broken systems. Jamie wanted to be the exception. To create a consistent system that did not fail it's students. Did this fear of being a program that would fail it's students manifest into it's own self-fulfilling prophecy? If the fear of failure did not exist, would the program still have failed? Or did it fail simply because it was too much work for too few people? 

Holly Honig

Senior Manager for Human Dynamics + Work at Herman Miller Inc. Holly's story was the failure of an opportunity in a friendship. This relationship was one of two inherently opposite individuals representing an illogically strong friendship. However, the reality of life post-college took the two on very different paths. Yet, when they reconnected years later was when this opportunity arose. The friend shared feelings unhappiness. A short time after this opportunity, Holly's friend stepped in front of a train, killing herself. In tears, Holly shared what represented the failure, "I failed to love her alone while sitting with her alone". 

I think this is where the failure lives...not in the prediction or prevention of what came after the conversation, but in the capacity to, in that moment, love. To love alone. Not just the situation that the individual is struggling with...but to love the individual, alone. Honestly, I would not have recognized this as a failure prior to seeing the hurt and ramifications of it's reality in it's telling. Thank you Holly, truly. 

David Abbott

Five time cancer survivor. Fashion Guru. Philanthropic Advocate. David's story of failure was of survival. Obviously, he did not fail to survive...he is very much so alive. Rather, the failure lies in the resulting ramifications of a state of perpetual survival. A life defined in survival's success. Specifically, David touched on a romantic relationship that failed as a direct result of this. When he survived cancer, the relationship could not survive without it. The relationship had been defined in the roles fulfilled as a result of a survival need.

It was moving. You could feel this of wall survival David had put up breaking down on stage. It hurt him. He told this story with humorous additions told in tears. Am I just surviving? Are my relationships surviving? What am I trying to survive? 

Paul Moore

Communicator at Start Garden and overall hilariously expressive human being. Paul's story of failure was failing to recognize the true gift of a friendship in life. Paul described a captivating friendship. An individual who freely gave love. An individual who loved you. Not hindered by the idea of conformity to their idea of life or comfort. True unrestricted love. Paul was gifted by a friendship with this individual. As life often requires, their lives grew apart. When their paths crossed once again, it was in death. Paul's friend had died because of heart complications. Initially, the loss was not detrimental. But, the hurt manifested in a deep sorrow at the loss a gift.  

He felt he had missed out on this gift. This life. What are gifts in my relationships that I may be overseeing? What are my gifts? Am I utilizing these gifts? Do I embrace or seek to fix people? 

What Are You Trying To Say?

I'm not sure. Failure:Lab left me provoked without words. In every possible way, I was moved. I was moved by the raw intimacy of tales that would traditionally be disregarded and guarded as a result of a pervasive negative cultural stigma. I was moved because I felt that experiencing this broke down walls. It allowed me the opportunity to dream without restraint. With a rational fear of failure. Which may be more aptly termed as caution? 

Feel free to discuss your failures below in the comments section. OR if you were at the event or have been to a Failure:Lab I'd LOVE to hear your reaction to the experience. 

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Stream-Of-Conscious: Toilet Clog Edition

The Sorry

Hey! Sooo, I realize it is not Sunday...in fact, it's not even Monday...it's Wednesday. BUT to make it up to you, I am going to do a stream-of-conscious writing based on an embarrassing personal bathroom experience. Plus, my next post is on pants crapping situations SOOO giving you a lot this week...lots of crap. GET IT! Good. Let's do this.

The Story

I want to start off by saying...I actually literally cannot think of a way to justify the stupidity of my actions in this scenario. Zero common sense, painfully stupid. Sorry mom. That's all I got.

Okay. So. How many ever odd weeks ago...I was being a productive adult working at my pallet cubicle doing all sort of adult things. The rest of my co-adults were in another room meeting about adult things. Lots of adult going on. So, throughout the course of that morning, I had consumed many cups of coffee. And like any other human being I felt the need to piddle.

Ugh, I don't want to continue with this story...all the shame. AHHHHH. Okay. For the record...I did NOT poo!!! I repeat...DID NOT POO!!! Seriously, I would tell you if I did. The fact that it did clog due to no fecal fault of mine own is ironic. IRONY. So, I PEED. And because the color of the barn I was raised in was good manners green, I flushed.

The laws of physics betrayed me that day, because it came back up. To the brim of the toilet bowl. I panicked. And because my panic usually leads to more bathroom situations it was essential to get that crap under control. Literally. Okay, so I looked for a plunger...no plunger. I searched for any long anything. Nothing. I thought about asking someone BUT...one, the blame would be on my actual butt (AND IT WASN'T ME) and two, everyone was in a meeting with clients. I already have the bad millennial stigma...I did NOT want to add toilet clogging to that list. *Although...this story did end up making it's way around the office...and is now on the internet...sooo everyone is a winner?

Here comes the shameful part. THE FIX. In the midst of my MacGyver panic looking for object to Jerry-Rig into a plunger...I stared down and knew what I had to do. I had to use my God given plungers to fix this. I'm talking about my arm. I used my arm to unclog the toilet. I pushed through the pain. And by pain I mean poo. Other than that discrepancy...that statement was literal. In shock, I told a co-worker about the horrors I had to revert to in that dark hour. After talking to her, I was told that an alternative option might have been walking up the stairs to get a plunger from the other bathroom...REGARDLESS, what happened happened.

The End

So again, sorry mom. However, I like to this that this story is less disgusting and more enduring? Like if it hadn't literally happened it could be some sort of metaphor for my persevering nature? My tenacious toiletry? There you go. Unfiltered and way too personal. 

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True Love Or Truly Dumb?

 The Intros

This week, I'm going to go a little deep. That is, I will be talking about my past long term relationships. And by relationships, I mean relationship. One. And by deep I mean skillfully vague. Don't worry, you'll get plenty of deets, just not enough to identify the individual because let's be honest...I'm nothing if not a complete and total adult.

So ladies...* Why do we go back? Why can't we let go? Maybe these questions mean nothing to you. If so...cool...you've clearly had more healthy and mature relationships then I've had. But, if these questions resonate with a string of your heart that you thought you had repressed...I feel ya. Okay, let me paint a vaguely abstract picture of the relationship that inspired this post and a lot of other things in my life that I regret. 

The Relationship

It's a love story baby please say yes...non-committedly date for three years...and then breakup. On St Patrick's Day to be exact. Ironically, the same day one of my best friends dumped her significant other. She and I still refer to it as the St Patty's Day Massacre...of hearts. Get it? Moving along. Oh, funny I should say that...because that is exactly what my Ex did. Moved along. Specifically, to the person who, at the time, represented the pinnacle of my insecurities. I was mildly upset. And yes, my emotions are described on the salsa severity scale: mild, medium, hot, and dangerous. Fast forward a year post-breakup. At this time, my Ex and I entered into an odd "friend" phase of our mutual existence on Earth. What was that? That's how you awkwardly avoid saying relationship. This phase can be best explained as unnecessarily repetitive, it includes: reconnecting, enjoying renewed friendship, get the feels, confronting the feels, run away from the feels, repress the feels, and repeat. 

The Hows Of The Whys

Again, why? Why do we go back? Personally, I justified my going back with disillusioned lies... I do want to be friends, maybe I can make it work? Maybe we will get back together? Maybe it is different this time? Blah, blah. All this ever did was allow me brief periods of false joy and longer periods of real pain. Looking back...I can't believe I allowed this to happen for so long. Most laboratory rats learn to shy away from a negatively associated situation within a week...it took me almost 2 years and an unscheduled epiphanal moment.

The Epiphanal Moment

Four score and one year ago, a friend of mine recovering from a breakup informed me that they were "hanging out" with the individual that had literally broke them. Okay, not literally. Emotionally. Regardless, the thought of that individual, someone I loved very much, going back to that toxic relationship/friendship/mutual Earthly existence made me feel physically ill. Apparently, achieving the emotional capacity to feel other's pain causes one's body to want to betray itself. 

Empathy. I knew that my friend deserved better and was worth so much more than the situation she were allowing to occur in her life. AND IT HIT ME...that's exactly what my friends felt for me in my situation. They knew I deserved better. They knew I was worth so much more than this cycle of hurt. I actually apologized to said friends after realizing this. And thanked them dealing with my repeat dumb in this situation. To this day, I have had ZERO desire to fall back into that. Mr. Ex and I are not friends. But are not enemies. We are people mutually existing on this Earth. And that's OKAY.

The Take Aways

I know, that was a lot of words and you have been SO patient. I'm very proud of you. Let's sum this mess up, list style.

Top Three Keys To Moving On:

Value. Listen to the advice and opinions of friends and family. Typically, they love you and want what's best for you. Even if you can't see it. Also, value yourself. You deserve better. Period. 

Beware. Keep your head in the game...the game of not being fooled by false promises of friendship. When you have truly loved someone it is hard to change that identity from significant other to strictly friends. In my experience, these two things can not definitively co-exist.

Embrace. Being single is an awesome stage of life to be in. Enjoy it! Want to hear a little secret...you don't have to be in a relationship to enjoy life. WHAT?!?! I know, but it's true. Pursue passions. Try new things. Explore. Do it ALL!

*For the record...I am a lady...so, I speak for ladies. What qualifies me to do this? Literally nothing. Except periods maybe? I mean that is a small horrific qualification...ANYWAY, so no...I am not being sexist in speaking as a woman who has gone through these things. I am well aware that men can be on the suck side of this scenario...but I'm not a man, so I can't really speak for them. But the application of what can be learned from my experience is applicable to all. 

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Symptoms May Include Awkward

The Things:

The thing you are expected to do when you are single at this stage in life, dating. The thing you've become but have no idea how to be, adulthood. And the thing that makes you want to crap your pants, anxiety. Maybe the last is just me. Regardless, you can probably relate to at least two of these things...if you can relate to all three, we're already friends. Dating. Adulthood. And anxiety. These thing are the things that will make up the majority of this thing. So, I thought I'd give you a bit of context for the content that follows with a Spiderman undie brief of what these things mean to me 

Dating: 

This thing is oddly unique ground for me. Not because I have never had a relationship. I have both brief and committed. However, in those previous stages of life when I did date...it made sense. It was within a context that provided 'organic' means for dating that made sense? Does that make sense? For example, dating in High School because there was a readily available pool of people who want month long relationships dictated by whether they were grounded or not. But, how do you go about dating in this modern age? Post college and pre career? There is not a generic localized pool of people...the world is your pool. So, how do you go about meeting that special someone? Seriously, I'm asking you...because I don't have the answers. BUT. I have been in love. And I hope to find love again. So, throughout this blog I'll look back on what I've learned about relationships and fill you in on what I am learning now...about dating...in this modern moment. 

Adulthood:

This thing, oh this thing...if dating is oddly unique ground for me...than adulthood is...well it's the same. Adults. When I look at the generation that came before me, I see clearly defined adults. In talking to this generation, it is clear that their transition into adulthood was just as clear. There was some defining moment when they knew they had become adults. Typically this happened in their early twenties. I am in my mid twenties...literally, I'm 25...and I do not feel like an adult. But I am? The state of Michigan seems to think I am. So, what does it mean to be an adult? I have no idea. This is what this whole thing is for right?! Figuring out adulting and all that it entails. 

Anxiety: 

This thing meant nothing to me until l graduated from college. Long story short, a literal week after receiving my diploma I got sick. A year later, I was not sick. But, one of the lingering symptoms was a gastrointesinally focused social anxiety. Okay, so technically it is called IBS. Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Regardless of the 'politically correct' term, this social anxiety caused my body to betray itself over and over again. It causes my heart to race. Shortness of breath. Tunnel vision. Dizziness. Nausea. Irritable bowels. What causes my anxiety? Before I go on let me say this...anxiety is not restricted to the categories find myself wanting to crap my pants for. Anxiety can hit you at any time for any reason. But, to make thing simple...here are a list of things, for me, that are pretty consistent pants crap potential scenarios: crowds, travel, closed spaces, doing things alone, sensory overload, and unfamiliarity in general. Clearly, I do not crap my pants every time I experience these scenarios...that would be a lot of pants. I could not afford that. For the sake of my savings account, I take medication along with natural remedies that help manage my anxiety. As much of a pain in the rear anxiety can be, sometimes literally...it has made me the unfiltered quirk master I am today. A toast to my bowels. 

The Other Things: 

This thing will be a compilation of those things. But not limited to these things. I hope you enjoy. Feel free to comment and tell me about your personal experience in dating, adulthood, or anxiety. Subscribe. Because why not? You've subscribed to worse. 

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Tinder Typicals: The Frat Boy Versus The Party Boy

Welcome to the first installation of...TINDER TYPICALS! What is Tinder Typicals? Great question, Tinder Typicals is a series of ten different male types commonly found on Tinder. Psst, Tinder...who uses Tinder...not me... Don't worry, when people ask how we met, we can make something up. Till then, enjoy!

The Frat Boy (pronounced: fah-rat boy-iee)-

These gems are courtesy of the American Collegiate System...thanks America! So. Frat boys ALWAYS make themselves known with either: a mascot shoutout, a frat house shoutout, or a general college shoutout...followed by a fire emoji. Seriously, you know how venomous creatures in nature make themselves known by bright colors...the various shoutouts and fire emoji's are nature's gift to women. Ladies, if you see this...RUN! This is nature's way of saying, "Hey, yeah so that period thing sucks...I think I may have overreacted a little bit...but, HEY! How about I give you this frat boy warning system and we call it good...?" While I appreciate the gesture nature...the answer is no...we are not cool. Another indicator of a frat boy are his profile pictures...All of his pictures have at least 4+ individuals in them...and all of them are guys...cute. Lastly, frat boys tend to communicate with the least possible effort; therefore, they talk in text language and use lots of acronyms. If you feel like you are talking to a 2 year old or a Neanderthal...you pretty much are...because you are conversing with a frat boy. 

The Party Boy (pronounced: pa-arh-tay boy-iee)-

What is a party boy? Google 'MTV's Jersey Shore'...basically these guys...but since it is Michigan they are A LOT less tan. So. Party boys are nearly identical to frat boys with the exception of a few slight differences. ONE. The shoutout is simplified to = college name + year of graduation. Again, thanks nature for this 'matured' warning system...but...still not enough to make up for the fire fight I experience without exception once a month. TWO. The party boy's pictures are the same...except...instead of being captured within a testosterone infested structurally condemned frat house...it is captured within a testosterone infested club. All are mostly guys. Unfortunately, the party boy still talks like a frat boy...because...at the end of the day, the party boy desperately wishes he was still a frat boy. Which, is why his life is a maturely sad version of what is was in college. Except, instead of keg stands the party boy has trouble standing. Because he is old. And his knees, and every other part of his body, just wasn't what it used to be.  

Review-

The frat boy and the party boy get a zero out of ten. Unless you enjoy 'ragrets' and want to date and eternal boy...RUN AWAY...literally, drop your phone and RUN. Blow the whistle they gave you at orientation and scream, "I choose life!" Luckily, frat boys and party boys are fairly easy to spot. Keep an eye out for the signs nature provided you. As an added precaution...stay away from any clubs that have an 18+ night...party boy hunting grounds. 

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Introductory: The Who's, The Why's, & The What The Crap's

Who Am I?

Counter question...you Squatch? 'Cause if you do I know a guy. And that guy's a girl. And that girl is me. Hi, I'm Lindsay. Self proclaimed adult and poop-prenuer by popular vote. I don't actually seek poo ventures to promote...I'm just well versed in the subject. Poo life chose me. Actually, anxietal life chose and poo was came along for the ride. Like many plastic plants, I thrive in awkward situations. I feed on quirky...and really anything that is made of chocolate. Holding it down in the 616...(a whole 10 people will understand that reference)...that's Grand Rapids, Michigan. I have a slight addiction to ellipsis'. I tried to get help, but my insurance doesn't cover it. The only emotional capability I have is humor. 

Why Am I Doing This? 

Have you been talking to my mom...? Creating a space where comedic content lives has been a desire of mine for many a moon. Ideally, I'd like to create a humorous memoir of the things I haven't repressed yet in my life...this seems like the most noncommittal way to start. Maximum effort. Also, as a recent 'adult' I figured I'd share my experiences, because nothing goes better than responsibility and anxiety. So, why am I doing this? To laugh. To laugh at myself. To laugh at life. And to hopefully to make one of you laugh along the way...I would accept an awkward giggle. Pity laugh even. 

What The Crap Is This?

So far, it is this post. Literally. But, I hope that this blog and associated creative content will be home to funny crap. Let's be honest. Life can be pretty crappy sometimes. But when life gives you crap, you laugh at it. And now you have funny crap. Still as smelly, but a little more entertaining. This is a judgement free zone...like actually judgement free...not like a certain gym who promised me freedom of judgement! You know who you are... Hopefully, some of the nonsense of my figuring out adult life while living with anxiety is helpful. If not, well...now you know what not to do. So, you're welcome. 

[squatching-4-days-blog]

Introductory: The Who's, The Why's, & The What The Crap's

Who Am I?

Counter question...you Squatch? 'Cause if you do I know a guy. And that guy's a girl. And that girl is me. Hi, I'm Lindsay. Self proclaimed adult and poop-prenuer by popular vote. I don't actually seek poo ventures to promote...I'm just well versed in the subject. Poo life chose me. Actually, anxietal life chose and poo was came along for the ride. Like many plastic plants, I thrive in awkward situations. I feed on quirky...and really anything that is made of chocolate. Holding it down in the 616...(a whole 10 people will understand that reference)...that's Grand Rapids, Michigan. I have a slight addiction to ellipsis'. I tried to get help, but my insurance doesn't cover it. The only emotional capability I have is humor. 

Why Am I Doing This? 

Have you been talking to my mom...? Creating a space where comedic content lives has been a desire of mine for many a moon. Ideally, I'd like to create a humorous memoir of the things I haven't repressed yet in my life...this seems like the most noncommittal way to start. Maximum effort. Also, as a recent 'adult' I figured I'd share my experiences, because nothing goes better than responsibility and anxiety. So, why am I doing this? To laugh. To laugh at myself. To laugh at life. And to hopefully to make one of you laugh along the way...I would accept an awkward giggle. Pity laugh even. 

What The Crap Is This?

So far, it is this post. Literally. But, I hope that this blog and associated creative content will be home to funny crap. Let's be honest. Life can be pretty crappy sometimes. But when life gives you crap, you laugh at it. And now you have funny crap. Still as smelly, but a little more entertaining. This is a judgement free zone...like actually judgement free...not like a certain gym who promised me freedom of judgement! You know who you are... Hopefully, some of the nonsense of my figuring out adult life while living with anxiety is helpful. If not, well...now you know what not to do. So, you're welcome.