A poo coup

Or a better title: Vanity of vanities, a narcissistic sin.

OK, so I put a site meter on my blog to see how many visits I get. It's a horrible vanity. I just want to know if people are reading my blog. There are a few, some people I don't know, but mostly relatives and friends. I see only locations, no names.

But I guffawed (and so did Bob) when I saw that one person who had visited got to my blog by doing a Google search. And guess what she (or he) was searching for? "Hard pebbles stool." I just love it, my blog came out on top of that search. (However, it is no longer on top.) Still, is that not truly a poo coup? That was my biggest excitement of yesterday. I am the poo blog. Perhaps I should change the name of my blog. Of course, the person didn't stay very long when they found out I knew absolutely nothing about "hard pebbles stools," but if they had read down a little further (or is it farther) on my blog, they would have found my favorite book on the subject.

Another person got to my blog by searching for "cowgirl bars." Now, I love cowgirl bars, and in fact, have always wanted to start one, but it would have to be for early drinkers. 'Cause I can't stay up much past 10. 10:30 at the latest. Or it could be a morning bar, for really early drinkers.

I know of a good cowgirl bar if you're anywhere near Santa Fe. It's a restaurant too. The Cowgirl Hall of Fame. Very cool. Lots of different beers and sweet potato french (or cowgirl) fries.

Maybe they have buffalo pebbles.

I need my own, dedicated, personal bathroom at work

None of this sharing stuff. None of this possibly someone else could walk in at any time as I'm swaying around, rocking back and forth, and crooning while having a Pebble Poo. (Sorry, Audrey, and all you fancy pants, poo-talk challenged people; this blog is NOT for you.)

I cannot have complete and total freedom while sharing a bathroom with someone else. Or while worrying that I might have to share a bathroom with someone else at any moment. Even when I know Bob's in the house (he has an uncanny ability to need to go to the very bathroom I'm in at the very time I'm in it, despite the fact we have three, yes three, toilets in our smallish, three-story house), I have trouble feeling free to sing and dance on the toilet.

So you can imagine how restricted I feel at work. And feeling restrained leads to being even more bound up. I cannot take this any longer. I used to advocate for a nap room. I think work places should have little catacomb-like spots we could squeeze into and take a 20-minute nap. Then we could get back to work feeling refreshed and creative. Better than strong coffee.

But my desires have altered. Now I want my own personal port-a-potty. (Not like this one in Japan.) But, private and soundproof.

And I want it now!