Ok, what did I miss?

Wow, I gotta stop going away for so long. I basically forgot my password to get back on here. Remembered it at the last second, though, good 'ole 123456 hasn't let me down yet.

I've been busy in my absence from this far away place, deep cleaning my apartment and my colon. That's right, I had a colonscopy, which, in Latin, roughly tranlates to colon guided tour. (I had a really spunky freshman leading the way. High hopes I'll get into Colon College.) I got one because people dying around me hasn't made me feel old enough yet. And that's including the fact that I was born a forty year old woman who is slowly self-realizing that right now. I cleaned my bathroom right after because after you prepare for a colonoscopy, you need to clean your bathroom.

The preparation is the worst part, followed by the 2.5 hour wait to be seen by a "licensed professional." You know how much hungry and tired people love to wait, right? Because the night before, you basically drink a gallon of human approved Draino and then try to go to sleep. Alternatively, tide pods will clean you out as well. Life hack! #tidead Around glass 12 or 13, you get good at drinking the stuff, only to find out that you have like 1 glass left. Practice makes perfect, and this stuff makes you poop. Well, it's more like peeing out of your ass. You've heard of talking out of your ass; well, this is everything out of your ass.

The procedure itself is really no big deal. Someone sticks a camera up your butt and takes pictures, a person I'm calling "the pooparazzi." The hardest part was reconfirming my birthday for every God damn person I met. It hasn't changed, you morons. For the rest of it, they administer Propofol and you're out cold. That's the drug Michael Jackson died from. I didn't die, but I did wake up and learn that I had starred in a Pepsi commercial. Turns out, I'd been hit by a "Poop Criminal."

When you wake up, you fart for a while and feel squeaky clean. Or as I call it, Wednesday. You grab whatever drink they've given you, and then someone takes you home to eat something. Everything tastes good cause it's all food. Remember food? So good, that stuff. When all is said and done, you've been violated with a camera and charged $200, or as I call it, Wednesday.

The results of my stomach thing came back fine, so now we think it's stress. That's probably it. I am a nervous person. Always have been. Always will be. So we will see, I guess. I'll figure it out. How hard can managing stress be, guys? Guys? GUYS?!!

The bathroom was its own beast, needing some absolutely warranted tender love and care, or TLC, only in this case, we wanted scrubs. And I took every cleaning solution we had and scrubbed my watery colonoscopy poop from the windows. There's no more more hair down the sink drain or up my butt. Just kidding, there's still a lot of hair up my butt. I do not manscape. Sometimes, I flick the hairs down there in the shower and watch them go down the drain. That's called flickscaping, and it sounds less like a grooming technique and more like a movie streaming platform. I'll make that for next week. I've gotten the bathroom cleaned, and I've been eating regular meals off of the floor ever since. That won't affect my stomach at all, will it? Let's wait till next week to find out. Bye!!