It’s not often I’m at a loss for words. I deserve a gold medal in over-sharing for this one though, that much I’m sure of.

Generally even in a moment when I watch something funny unfold? I’m writing about it in my head. I’m observant. I notice the little things. The tiny details.

I’m as Type A as it gets without meds.

I organize my closet with Roy G. Biv…. It makes me happy to see it just so.

I’m the girl that looks past the guy holding roses climbing out of his Jaguar for the businessman in a perfect suit and a tie I love.

I love things that are beautiful. I love crisp white sheets. I only wear white socks because I can bleach them and they’re squishy soft sparkly. I’m a creature comfort whore.

I change my sheets at least twice a week. I work my ass off, I deserve to have the bed be exactly as perfectly comfortable as I fantasize about it being ALL day.

I have dinner with Mr. Hmmm…. and things are perfect. We come home, turn on a movie… and fall asleep on my bed.


I wake up in the middle of the night and am stupid tired confused. Something is wrong.

Something is just … Ohh… what is going on. I’m so half asleep and there’s something wet on my hand. Blood? What?

I get up out of bed, see him sleeping naked next to me on top of the quilt. So confused why his clothes are off, to be completely honest. I’m still in my shoes.

I walk to the bathroom and turn the light on.

There’s shit on my hand.

I’m not kidding.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

OH My god…. you cannot be serious. I immediately turn around in the mirror, instinctively. I’m still in the dress I wore to dinner, in my heels and sweater.

I am so confused.

I walk back to my bedroom and the smell hits me.

Ever had a real bender? Solo bottle of wine? Bachelorette party? Crazy drunken extravaganza??? Only to take a shit the next day and be poisoned by the smell? Yeah. That bad.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

The dude shit on my bed.

Nasty. I’m torn between lighting the entire situation on fire and crying about my poor sheets.

I’m stunned silent… but I know from the time a guy peed in my bed, that I have to say something, and if nothing else?

I have to remove this horrid smell from my home. Gag.

I wake him up.

J- Um… You shit on my bed. You need to go get in the shower. Now.

What the hell else was I supposed to say???

He complied without saying much. I’m in total and complete shock. I’m also really understanding and I can’t imagine being in that situation- so I empathize a little too much.

I tore everything off the bed, thankful again for the waterproof cover on my Tempurpedic. Good God.

My favorite guy said it best…

MJ- You need to quit dating guys who use your bed for a bathroom.

This was an unsuccessful date, to say the least… and the guy only got crazier from there… but thankfully? He moved away and I can finally blog about it.


Oh and…

Quit binge drinking, shitting in peoples beds and using nice women. It’s just wrong.

But at the very least? Do us all a favor….

Keep your pants on.


  1. wiserthanthat says:

    Hmmm…that shitty situation is sounding slightly familiar. How does one even get to that point anyway? I hope he gets the help he needs…

    1. Jenni says:

      You too huh? As soon as I heard a girl say “I told him he had to pay for the dry cleaning” I knew I had to blog it, lol…

  2. mbt says:

    Holy holy holy, shit balls!!!! Omg!!!

  3. The T says:

    ummm WTF… seriously…


    1. Jenni says:

      As a heart attack….

  4. Darlin’, seriously? First guys pees, this guy shits?? I am so very sorry. You deserve SOOO much better!

  5. mybrightspot says:

    Maybe if a guy is going to spend the night you need to give him a breath-a-lizer test and his score dictates whether or not he gets to sleep on the bed, wear adult diapers, or sleep on some newspaper in the corner.

    1. Jenni says:

      Maybe? I’d say my next big purchase should be a breath-a-lizer machine.

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