Crohn's Disease in NYC

Ahh, So I returned to the scene of my now infamous pants pooping site today. Unfortunately my favorite boxers weren't there (Click here if you have no idea what I am talking about). I was in New York City for ad:tech. My stomach was OK, but I am a bit worried about a blockage. I get my Humira shot in a few minutes. Thanks for all of your comments. I am teetering on the edge and somehow avoiding a flare up. I am determined to run a marathon in 2008 and am about to start training again. My goal is 8 miles by Jan 1 (at a 7:50/mile pace).

Grown Men Don't Poop their Pants (and blog about it)

Ok, so I hinted about a month ago about telling the story of how I pooped my pants. A few people have requested it. So here it is. This is the story of how I shit my pants on a date and successfully cut my underwear off while walking down Broadway in New York City. Away we go.

Let me transport you too a chilly winter night in the early winter. Must have been about 1998. I am living in Connecticut and decide to take a girl I was dating into the city for a night on the town. We enjoy a nice dinner at Gramercy Tavern (strange how many details I remember from this night). We are walking to a play (Rent..UGH) and I innocently try to slip a fart past a turd. Well, I failed miserably and propelled a liquidy stream down my right leg.

Thank the good lord for my 3/4 length suede jacket, which mostly hides the damage. While it isn't too obvious to others, I still have issues to deal with. Great, now what? As panic start to step in, I coolly collect myself and begin to formulate a plan. I will use my Swiss Army Knife to cut my underwear off! BRILLIANT! But wait, the keys jingling are going to give me away. So before I set about this operation, I remove the knife from the key chain. I open it up, slide my hand down the side of Gap Khakis.

Over the course of several blocks and 15 minutes, all while maintaining a conversation on how great the meal was, how awesome Savage Garden and BackStreet Boys are (hey its 1998) I proceed to cut my FAVORITE BOXERS off. And no..despite discussing Backstreet and going to see Rent...I am not gay. So anyhow, I am making progress. It takes another block while I shake, wiggle and shimmy until I smoothly expel the soiled underpants out my pants let and onto the sidewalk in front of a Chinese takeout restaurant!
I look back longingly at my trusty (and dirty) friends, and briefly wonder if I should fess up just so I can rescue them from the feet that will surely trample them (Honey, did you step in dog poo?). Begrudgingly I forge ahead, all the while wondering if I will ever be able to replace them. Never once did my date figure it out. Believe it or not, I went on to marry this woman. Maybe this shitty date should have been a sign of things to come....but that's another story for another blog.