Shit happens

I poop a lot, or what I’ve been led to believe is a lot. I go several times throughout the day, and each time lasts about ten minutes, sometimes more. My friends and family are well aware of this, as they receive countless Snapchats and texts while I’m taking care of my business. Usually they don’t appreciate being alerted of my bowel movements. Oh well.

As I was taking my morning dookie today, I was texting my friend Nadine and I just happened to mention to her the fact that I was mid-doo doo. She responded with “Oh NICE! That rocks! Bodies are COOL.” Her enthusiasm was unexpected, but appreciated. I often text, snapchat, and talk on the phone when I poop because it makes the time go by faster, but usually the responses I receive from my friends are more negative.

“Ew that’s disgusting, Stu!”

“Do not contact me ever again.”

“You are going to die alone.”

We started talking about poop and poop shame (the embarrassment many people feel after pooping, and the lengths they go to hide it), and its similarities to how people hide other things in their lives that they feel they should be ashamed of.

Why are people so afraid to let their peers know that they just dropped a big ol’ (Dej) loaf? Why don’t more people ask their friends about the health of their bowels? How are people supposed to know what to do when there’s something wrong with their dookers when they can’t even have a normal discussion on the topic?

Much like feces, why are people so afraid to let their peers know what’s going on in their lives? Why don’t more people ask their friends about what’s troubling them? How are people supposed to know what to do when life fucks them, if they don’t know how to talk about life?

Poop is the PERFECT metaphor for life. Here’s why:

1) L i t e r a l l y everyone poops and l i t e r a l l y everyone has shit (lol) in life that they have to deal with. Nothing to be ashamed of, that’s just life (and poop).

2) Sometimes life stinks, just like fanny fudge. Sometimes all you went to do is get the fuck out of the bathroom, but you have to finish what you started.

3) Pooping isn’t all bad, though. There’s nothing I look forward to more than my time spent on the throne in the morning. I check my email (lol what emails? I graduated, no one emails me anymore), scroll through my feeds (v important), and send Snapchats to my friends (sorry). It’s a good time. Just like pooping, life can be a lot of fun.

4) Sometimes it’s ok to call on your friends if the going gets rough. Everyone needs help once in a while. It’s totally understandable to send someone that “Hey can you talk?” text, or that “Yo there’s no tp in here, help a brother out?” text.


Savage af

5) Sadly, strangers don’t want to hear about the consistency or color of your bum nuggets, nor do they want to hear about the resentments you hold towards your mother. Some things are better to share with people you’ve known longer than a couple minutes.

6) There’s no right or wrong way to live life. No one can tell you how you’re supposed to live life. The same thing goes for dropping logs. Some people wipe while sitting down, and some do it standing up. I like to listen to music when I go potty. Pants can be halfway down your legs, or all the way off. Shirts are also optional.


When you forget your shirt in the bathroom after a nice, relaxing poop.

7) Lastly, I think we could all benefit from being a bit more open about our excrements, as well as life’s woes.


In summary, pooping is good and so is life. Let’s talk about these tough subjects with our friends more. I know I will.



Unapologetically myself

“I will never apologize for being me. You should apologize for asking me to be anything else.”

Someone I follow on Twitter tweeted this quote the other day. Obviously, I did what any logical human being would do, and immediately unfollowed (and blocked) this person. Sadly, I can’t shake this cheesy quote from my head. I relate to it more than I’d like to admit.

I find myself apologizing and explaining myself a lot, even when it isn’t necessary to do so. I might apologize for the way I’m typing on my laptop, in the off chance that it’s annoying someone. When I can feel someone judging my music preferences (Fetty Wap, Chief Keef, Young Thug, etc.), I feel the need to justify why I choose to listen to the music I listen to.

Maybe I like Chief Keef for his no bullshit attitude.

Zero fucks

Maybe I listen to Young Thug because he transcends gender roles with his fashion choices.


Maybe I fuck with Fetty Wap purely out of respect for the blind.

Really the only time I should have to explain myself or apologize is if I’ve offended you. Ironically enough, that’s probably the only time I won’t apologize because I can be a pretty shitty person if I’m not careful.

Why should I feel embarrassed for wearing clothing I like? If I think I look good in raw denim, Jordan 1s, and a t-shirt with embroidered roses, then I do. I don’t need the opinion of someone wearing Sperry’s and Chubbies to influence how I dress myself.

“Nice shoes, GDI.” – I literally heard some random douchebag in a frat say this to a friend of mine as we walked by. There’s a reason why fraternities aren’t looked fondly upon. 

American Psycho is my favorite book. Am I embarrassed about it? Actually yeah a little because it’s a pretty fucked up read and I totally understand why someone might not like it. Is that going to stop me from talking about it? Nah, judge all you want.

A few more fun facts about me that I imagine people judging me for: My favorite movie is Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I fart pretty often, some might say an unhealthy amount. I’m not doing anything with my college degree, unless you think working in a coffee shop is a good use of a Bachelor’s in Psychology.

While writing this, my friend looked at my laptop and asked, “What are you writing about?” My first instinct was to close the computer while my cheeks turned bright red. As I explained the feelings and thoughts I was trying to put into words, I found myself embarrassed for even starting this blog. Thoughts of low self-worth and inadequacy flooded my mind. “Feelings are feelings,” she said to me.

I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure out who Stuart is, and what he should like. Middle school was a shit-storm of changes in style and tastes. When I got to high school, I was so overwhelmed by my surroundings I thought it’d be best to just fit in and do as others did.

When is there NOT a quote from American Psycho that’s applicable to my life?

In college, I finally began to express myself. And then came more crippling anxiety.

“Do people think I’m cool?”

“Why don’t more girls like me?”

“Is that group of people staring at me because they like my shoes or because they hate them, as well as everything else about me?”

I was doing whatever I wanted, but I still cared too much about what all these fuckboys thought of me. Not a good combination.

Now in this new town with new people who know nothing about me, I have to start all over. Missouri was just starting to get comfortable. Now I’m in California with a new batch of people to judge me. So I’ve found myself explaining myself and apologizing for things about myself that I can’t control.

Since I’ve been here in California, I’ve been doing me and only me. I go where I want, when I want. I eat whatever I feel like eating (not enough ice cream, San Luis Obispo is seriously lacking quality cream). I can wear pretty much anything in my wardrobe to work at the café. Music I like has never sounded better. My favorite movies are more entertaining. I’ve never read more books for pleasure in my life than I am now.

I finally feel like myself.

But here’s the weird thing. People actually like me for the same things I apologize for and feel the need to justify. Some people even think I’m fun to be around, which is a novel concept. Someone told me I was so positive and happy all the time and I was like “???????” Who knew people would like me when I act like myself?

If I’m not careful, I might never apologize for being myself again. Then it’s game over for all you fucks that ever judged me.