fun with bodies

The Vertical Toilet Seat

/ wvfurandroot / 8 Comments
I'm doomed.

I'm doomed.

Okay.

I’m going to get thrown out of the Women’s Union for this, but . . .

[taking a deep breath]

There is no truth to the idea that if a man leaves the toilet seat up, a woman sitting (unaware) on said toilet will plummet into the water and require (a) disinfection or (b) 911 emergency removal through intervention of the Volunteer Fire Department.

It’s not true. Women will not fall into the toilet. They will not get stuck.

Oh, I can see y’all flailing your arms around and motor-mouthing about the time Herbert left the seat up and you stumbled into the bathroom in the middle of the night and encountered the shock of toilet water on your derriere and had to be treated for frostbite as it was the dead of winter during an ice storm on a windswept bluff in Duluth.

It never happened.

Now. Contrary to popular (mis)belief, feminism is not about the subjugation and derogation of men. Feminism is the idea that women and men should be treated equally in the attainment of life’s goals and everyday experiences. Now I don’t let men get away with bashing women drivers or labeling us all irrational. I’m not going to let the womenfolk perpetuate this urban legend about the vertical toilet seat. I am a feminist; one who will not, no matter how long the seat is left up, fall into the toilet.

I’ve done a lot of research on this as well as some personal experimentation.

The average toilet seat with tape measure verification.

The average toilet with tape measure verification.

Now then. The average woman’s pelvis is somewhere between 14 and 16 inches in width (dependent on if you’re measuring the top of the pelvis or the bottom) – that’s just the bone. If you add in varying amounts of muscle, fat (including the despised cellulite), and skin, the average woman is 17-19 inches in width and that’s not even allowing for the curvature of the buttocks or water retention.

The average toilet opening is 11 inches.

Do the math.

[Note (in the interest of full disclosure): While I bristle at the average label, those measurements apply to me. I used a cheap tape measure after a glass of wine, but I stand by my methodology. Since I’m generally described as slim-hipped, I think we can go with these especially since I don’t fall into the toilet bowl – slim hips and all.]

Now, I wondered if it was possible for someone with an especially droopy form of fat on their hind-end to make contact with the water. The average toilet allows between 6 and 8 inches between the rim of the bowl and the surface of the water. It’s generally true that fat spreads before it dangles.

In the normal of act of sitting on the toilet, the buttocks would relax, spread and any dangly fat would depend over the outer rim of the toilet. [I tested it, but will not be supplying photographic proof.] I suppose one could push and wedge the fat into the toilet bowl, Even so, it would have to droop more than half a foot to settle into toilet water. [And really, isn’t that a bit far to go to perpetuate this urban legend?]

So. I submit. This nonsense about imperiling one’s life should Mr. Man leave the toilet seat up needs to stop. It’s not true and generations of men have been nagged to death about it (to no avail).

None of this, however, refutes the idea that men have terrible aim. I mean, really, guys – how hard can it be? You manage to get golf balls into tiny cups from some distance, you can slam dunk a basketball, and you can carry the oil pan without spilling it all over the garage floor, but you can’t hit an 11 inch oval of water from a distance of 18”?

Now, men? I’ve done you a great favor by exposing this myth. While we may not fall in, we do not want sit in your piss. Put the seat down please. (I’m not nagging, I’m asking nicely.)

Misery Diet

/ wvfurandroot / 13 Comments
If spending hours on the damn thing, it's best to have a book.
If spending hours on the damn thing, it’s best to have a book.

Introduction (with TMI)

Since I have lost about 20% of my bodyweight in 8 months without trying, I thought I would share what I know about the Misery Diet. (Consider this a public service.)

The Misery Diet is not for wusses.  There’s a reason it is named such.

About two years ago, I was in a car accident that appeared to be minor. Nonetheless, I enjoyed dozens and dozens of doctor’s appointments, two surgeries, multiple prescriptions for pain pills, a walker, and what appears to be an incompetent attorney.

Since all that wasn’t enough drama, my family behaved badly including, on two occasions, suddenly dying, my significant other failed to remember who the drama queen in the relationship is, and my job got nutso. Then the stress really started. [Insert tales nobody will believe, but happened nonetheless.]

Add in an incorrigible gallbladder, menopause, financial difficulties, seasonal affective disorder, ADD, and a couple glasses of wine; stir, strain through a cheese cloth and voila! The perfect conditions for a successful Misery Diet.

One cannot just have a hang nail, a cheating spouse, or a retirement fund tanking. An effective Misery Diet must possess circumstances that even soap operas steer clear of in an effort to mimic reality. The individual situations can vary, but must be marked by a broad spectrum of disasters that little, if nothing, can be done to alleviate them save waiting out the Universe. (Chanting This Too Shall Pass won’t really help, but it’s kind of comforting.)

There is an enormous savings on groceries.

The gallbladder factor is crucial to the Misery Diet grocery savings. If stress is sufficient, even if one has previously been a stress eater, there will be a complete disinterest in food. A malfunctioning gallbladder will make it impossible to eat (or to keep food down) if bearer of the organ decides eating is necessary to keep up strength for stress battles. A truly incorrigible gallbladder does not play well with stress.  Meals become a cup of green tea, a couple spoons of green beans, and the occasional boiled egg. Oatmeal is a perennial favorite. If menopause is a factor, faux morning sickness will add color and drama to the situation.

Exercise becomes more about toning flab than burning calories.

Until strength gives out from malnutrition, exercise shifts from a calorie-burning activity to a desperate effort to maintain muscle tone. It’s a losing battle, but the Misery Diet isn’t complete without the insult-to-injury of mind-numbing, repetitive exercise. Mental health professionals will insist it helps mood and physiologists insist it maintains muscle mass and bones. You can’t argue with those folks. (Well you can, but it gets you about as far down the road as a recumbent exercise bike.) There’s no aesthetic benefit to reducing one’s BMI if arm wattles sway in the breeze and thighs sag to the knees.

Archaeological excavations of closets for skinny jeans, etc. are enlightening.

As poundage slinks away, the search for something that fits is complicated by the financial difficulties inherent to an authentic Misery Diet. Buying new is out of the question. The first places to reduce in size are the places you least want to lose mass. Packrats will enjoy some walks down Memory Lane while searching for their 5th grade training bra and maternity underpants.

Packrats will further enjoy reliving their youth from the Wannabee Hippy, Disco Queen, Professional Mom, Bringing Home the Bacon and Frying It Up in the Pan, Earth Mother, Diva, and, finally, Wild-Eyed Menopausal Running with Wolves Harpie fashion eras. This aspect of the Misery Diet can be fun especially if you start mixing and matching genres and blocking out the PTSD aspects of the Misery Diet by spending hours pondering what part of sequined turtleneck with loaf-of-bread-sized shoulder pads was a good idea. Non-packrats will further accelerate stress levels by realizing a need to learn complicated sewing techniques to facilitate alteration of clothes.

Not exactly Freudian or Jungian analysis, pondering early fashion choices will, if allowed, shine a light on parts of one’s psyche better left moldering in the dark.

Nutrition needs eat up savings on groceries.

An effective Misery Diet needs months to mature. As soon as it becomes evident that this is an authentic Misery Diet, it is necessary to buy various vitamin and herbal supplements lest one’s hair fall out and eyeballs turn yellow. Hydration is also an issue and bottled water can be damned expensive. (See note about financial distress.) To add further insult, the body may occasionally agree to be hungry, but will crave only out-of-season fruit, Godiva truffles, or leg-of-lamb with imported mint chutney.

Summary

The weight loss can be considerable and becoming a flamboyant anachronistic dresser does provide some amusement. Even so, I cannot recommend this method of weight loss. Proceed with caution.