Like I’ve said before, there are things you can do in Bumblefuck that you can’t do in NYC. There’s a certain one I miss the most.
When you’re acting in the woods, all the world’s a stage. When you’re living in the woods, all the world’s a bathroom. Mother Nature calls, you can answer her immediately. No waiting in line to pee behind a tree. We didn’t even call it “peeing”. My pirate captain coined the term “bladder blast” and that’s what we refered to all summer. “Don’t go out back, she’s taking a bladder blast”.
Back in New York, I’ll be walking down the street, get that old familiar feeling, a bladder blast approaching, and I become frustrated that I can’t solve my problem right then and there. That I have to find a Starbucks or some such, feel bad that I’m not buying anything, and wait in a line of a dozen women. Last weekend me and a friend had to pee while picnicking in Sheep’s Meadow. We waited in line for almost an hour. To the point where our non-peeing friends thought we’d been kidnapped. Yes, life in the big city is hard.
Of course, you can bladder blast outside in NYC. We’ve all seen people do it. Last night my roommate and I were walking home and 10 yards from our apartment saw a guy zipping up after relieving himself on the street. Without missing a beat and with no embarrassment he said, “You’re sexy. Both you ladies are sexxxy.” We burst into laughter and walked away, grossed out and amused.
Now, I didn’t spend the entire summer peeing behind trees. We did have privies. Privies that were monitored by Betty the Privy Duck
He (Betty turned out to be a boy after he was named) camped out side the privies all day, waddling around and making me want to use them as much as possible despite the huge pain of peeing in pirate clothes (lots and lots of layers). So, just so I’m clear, bladder blasting in Bumblefuck is far superior to any kind of urination we’ve got here in the Big Apple.