Happy late Independence Day, ya'll!
I wanna tell you about how my 4th went, because it's fucking crazy.
It all began on the eve of independence day, the third of July......the thief of happiness, if you will.
Hold on. Lemme back up. So I got diagnosed with gastroparesis. So there will be another detailed post later, but for now, know I can't eat solids. Like, at all.
On the this, the third of July, stealer of joy, I was (yet again) in the ER for stomach pain. This has become pretty routine, which sucks. I look like some kind of junkie, which......unless you count anti-emetics (nausea, for all you asshats), I'm not.
The er doc ordered a CT scan, pretty usual, but I have severe anxiety and I have to be sedated. Their asses gave MY ass HALDOL. FUCKING HALDOL. Wanna travel to a different place on the space time continuum? Get you summa dat shit. Holy lord of the rings I was higher than I'd ever been on any street drugs (I tried plenty in my day, thanks. Just none for me now, k? K.)
My dumbass, being high as fuck, BEGGED for ZAXBYS TOAST. Why? I don't know. I was hungry, obviously, but that's normal now. But something inside me just couldn't put two and two together saying HEY BITCH, YOU CAN'T EAT THAT SHIT.
So of course Boo Thang gets ZAXBYS, and I'm grateful. Crying tears of joy over the incredible flavor of the Sprite that accompanied the toast. Marveling at the rich, buttery nature of Texas Toast, and wondering if, indeed, God blessed Texas. I mean, I'm from there, so technically I guess so?
I ate the magic toast and THEN ATE A CHICKEN FINGER. GODDAMMIT IT FELT GOOD.
I was obviously too fucked up to make proper decisions, because Haldol made me believe I was cured (GP = NO CURE). That chicken had to have been selected by God himself to be placed in my mouth, only for my consumption. It was my gift for suffering through protein shakes and meal replacement drinks (Ensure tastes good though, ya'll).
Obviously.
I.
Was.
High.
So the 4th of July rolls around. I wake up at 5 am because I need to shit. Not like, ho hum, gotta poop, oh no. No ooooo no. I'm talking....you know that TLC song that says 'Don't go chasing waterfalls?'
Apparently I chased said waterfall, and I found it in my butthole.
It was CLEAR, both the poop, and the realization that I'd majorly fucked up. So I gathered myself together and went off to the walmart to grab some *supplies*. (toilet paper, coconut oil, Immodium, more protein shake powder). I needed to prepare for war.
So BOTH of our kids PLUS Boo Thang are in bed, right? I make my journey alone. Thank god.
I make it back without much incident. The day progresses and so does my butthole. I'm sure it dilated like a cervix. I am not sure if that's medically possible but I think I made a miracle happen.
Moving on to midday, Boo Thang asks for help to fix a lawnmower. "Yeah baby, I got you. You take care of me. I got you. "
And that's when it happened. IT. HAPPENED. Full on Maya Rudolph from Bridesmaids happened. I *thought* I had to fart. Sure, I fart in front of Boo. Not a lot, cause I'm a fucking lady, but when you got to, you got to.
I realize pretty damn quick I'm going to need the bathroom, so I drop the clamps I'm holding the gas line together with, douse Boo Thang in GASOLINE, and RUN to the bathroom.
I. Did. Not. Make. It.
I learned, in that moment, to never trust a fart.
Later that day, he asked me to marry him. I'm not sure if he was high from being coveted in gasoline or what, but he did. And I said the only thing I could think of, "Well fuck yeah. "
I'm an eloquent bitch.
Happy holidays!
