If you don't understand the title of this post, a Hot Carl is very similar to Chili Dog and just south of a Tahitian Mask.  All of these have nothing to do with temperature, food, or culture, and everything to do with fetishist sex moves involving feces.  Oh, p.s., this is gonna be one of those posts where i talk about feces.  Sorry for the late notice.

Anyhooo, all of this is to say i've been getting shit on.  And while i like to keep most of my "real world" problems off the blog, i do have a remarkable story from yesterday about . . . well . . . life imitating life.

My college friends recently had their second daughter Cassandra (on my gf's bday!) a month ago, and, while i was fortunate enough to meet Cassy's sister Phoebe on the day of her birth, Cassy's selfish parents decided to deliver Cassy in Minnesota, where they were living at the time.  Selfish.  And being that "college friend" is just a euphemism for "family," I've been chomping at the bit to meet my new niece.  So now fast forward to a month later, and my peeps have moved back east, and I got to hold one-month old Cassandra.

*Tangent.  I have a soft spot for second-borns.  I am the second born of a first-born mother and father and brother.    The way I see it, second-born's are rarer than first-born's and therefore innately more valuable.  Like diamonds and other precious and semi-precious stones.  End Tangent*

Now I love Phoebe (whose 3 now), but man does she have a ton of energy.  And she always has.  And energy in a wee born = a ton of noise.  Cassy on the other hand . . . Cassy seems mellower.  Which is why, for the first 3 hours of our acquaintance, Cassy was completely asleep.  If i didn't see her tiny heart beating, I would have thought she was made of plastic.  As I was getting ready to depart for the drive home, I got to hold Cassandra May for the first time while she was awake and conscious.  I held her with my hand cupping her torso, her back/backside against my chest.  Tiny, gorgeous, and precious.

And then i felt what I can only describe as a tiny squirt of mustard, straight out of the plastic dispenser nozzle, hitting my chest softly like an elvish paintball.  And then, someone squeezed that mustard bottle, and a lump, which felt more like a meatball, struck in the same spot as the elvish bullet.  In our first official meeting, Cassandra May shat on me, and she shat on me good. 

My first thought was that I was glad that when the dump hit, combined with what was a disproportionately large stench, that I didn't just drop the kid.  I'm not sure if that means I have a paternal instinct or that I have all my chromosomes.  Either way, I'm glad I didn't drop the kid.  That would have been . . . . embarassing!!!  (but it would have taught them a lesson about having their kid in the Midwest).  My second thought was that I was proud that Cassy shat like a real woman.  It really stunk ya'll.  Even Cassy's mom was left wondering what she had eaten.  Lastly, I thought how happy I was that I had passed some of my gene's on to my new niece.  Us big shitters, i mean second-born's, gotta stick together.