At the risk of losing all of my readership I will attempt to submit a blog entry that doesn't solely orbit around jumping pictures. The other risk, besides the fact that there will be no picture of
airborne humans, is that the title sounds like an off-task classroom creation of a
kindergartner. But I have to tell this story.
The other day I was fulfilling, no, magnifying my calling as the service co-chair in the Berkeley University ward by driving home from the service project to 'renew the zoo', a project to help upkeep the San Francisco zoo. I was taking a group home from the zoo when I encountered a '2 minute warning.' For those of you that watch football, a 2 minute warning is when play is halted with 2 minutes left in the game in order to warn the teams that there are only 2 minutes left in the game. Well, a 2 minute warning in this situation is a sudden pang that permeates your stomach region, warning you that explosive diarrhea will
follow in 2 minutes. I learned this bodily alarm while eating things I shouldn't have in Thailand. Normally it's not that big of a deal
because you just walk to the nearest bathroom and explode. But in this case I was still 30 minutes from home. I was confident that I could fend off the explosion until I got home. I was right, but it wasn't easy. There were a few times where I felt as if I'd fallen in the gall of bitterness and flames and would die if I didn't just let the cows out then and there.
I finally made it through the tunnel to the island (where one of the instances of near-breakdown occurred), and pulled up to my apartment complex. As I pulled up the the apartment complex I didn't have the patience to drive around the streets of Alameda looking for a spot barely long enough for my car, that I'd have to shimmy into for another 3 minutes, while the battle of the century is coming to fruition in my innards. I promptly decided to park directly in front of my apartment in the 'No Parking' zone, which I would find out later would be a catalyst to my demise.
I quickly parked and barely made it to the bathroom in time to unload similar to the fashion that Lloyd (Jim
Carrey) did in the Aspen cabin in the film Dumb and Dumber. While I was recovering from the initial pressure-load and preparing for after-shocks, I heard
Cruella Deville's voice in my apartment, searching for me in a frenzy. I found out a few minutes later it wasn't
Cruella Deville, but her even more evil cousin, my land lady! And she was furious that there was a car parked in her sacred 'No Parking' zone. In order to display her disapproval she yelled in my face constantly, not allowing me to explain myself. Finally, after trying to butt in and tell my side of the story for what seemed like a whole lifetime of eating my land lady's spit/
comeuppance, I figured out the only way to get through to her. I yelled at the top of my lungs, "I HAD EXPLOSIVE DIARRHEA!!!" Needless to say, a silence came over my landlady that probably hadn't been seen since she last went to a funeral. I could tell for a split second that she felt bad for yelling at me, but only for a split second. I was already a little embarrassed having confessed my irregular bowel movements in a astronomically loud voice when I realized that at least 2 of my neighbors heard what I had just so shamelessly spilled all over the Taylor St. apartment complex.
YEAR OF THE GRANOLA
I would like to announce to the world that despite plane delays due to typhoons, eating during tsunami warnings, backpacking in 100 degree weather with 100% humidity (because we were too cheap to get a taxi), and even a plane wreck in Phuket, the Bakers have made it home safely. It actually wasn't until our last two days that we even got rained on (but I think Thailand is where the phrase originated, "when it rains, it pours"). For the most part we frolicked and giggled in weather and scenery that is seen in the photograph. We also ate our way through the country and justified any ridiculous activity with "it's our honeymoon".
