Holy Mackerel

My butt has a brain. And thoughts. And opinions, apparently. Because ever since the doctor gave me the orders to get my poop tested, my butt has refused to give up the goods. It's been six days now, folks! SIX POOPLESS days, after eight tiring WEEKS of nothing BUT poop after poop after -- you guessed it -- poop. There can be NO OTHER EXCUSE but that my badonkadonk has a mind all its own, and a sense of dignity to boot! When it gazed upon the three containers I am supposed to "fill" and return, it did an about-face and ran the other way. And although I can't say I haven't enjoyed the freedom and respite from constantly having to run to the toilet, I'm just trying to wrap my head around this whole thing. How in heaven's name can I go from 20 and more dingleberries per day to none? Just like that? And everyday, I think, 'OK, today's the day. Today, I will be disgusting and poop in little wee containers and bring them to the lab and be all embarrassed...

I have to buy a swimsuit, guys. And the only ones I've found so far are at least $100, which makes me convulse. And what makes my limbs flail about like they're attached to a marionette is this: I can't find one that kindly hides the fact that my chestuals are, shall we say, lopsided. Okay, there you have it. I've said it. Okay?! Yes, my mammaries are not the same size. Slut, will you still sleep with me in New York City? I promise to keep my lactoids unexposed. So, like I said, I need a swimsuit, because we're going to Florida in a few weeks, and although I'm sure everyone will be in the hotel pool more than a few times during our stay, I'm not so sure about myself, but I DO know I'll be in the hot tub with a plastic cup filled to the brim with cheap wine. So, I need a swimsuit. The good thing is, I probably won't much care what I look like (because of the cheap wine), so why spend $100-plus on a swimsuit, I ask you. The problem is, I don't hav...