Thursday, May 30, 2013

I'd Rather Write About My Asshole Than My Feelings

So, I'm seeing someone new. The first date I wrote about last month actually went really well. So well that I have grown quite fond of the man and can't seem to stop thinking about him.  For lack of better words, this bitch is all up in her feelings.  I take care of my kids, go to work, and either think about or talk to this muther fucker all day long. 

That being said, while I am a blogger, I don't write about relationships, blossoming feelings, and love. I write about shit that either makes you laugh at yourself or others. It's what I like to do. Because of this mind- pillaging fucker,  I have had writers block.  The last few weeks, everything I went to write about was about vomit inducing bullshit that no one wants to hear. I figure after a few more months, he will irritate me and I will have fodder for the masses. Until then,  I thought I would write about something humiliating and hilarious all at the same time. My asshole. This story is true, even though I wish it wasn't.  This time, you can laugh at me.

So the new boo asks me to attend a birthday party for one of his friends.  Of course, I oblige.  I make sure I look good enough to eat when he arrives.  He looks at me like a pork-chop sandwich, we jump in the truck, and head out. The whole way there, he is looking at me with bedroom eyes, stroking my leg, and telling me I am pretty.  I. Am. Eating. This. Shit. Up. We arrive to our destination and I am a tad nervous meeting his friends for the first time. I needed a drink. There is a God and a bar with a heavy handed bartender behind it.  Many social lubricants down the hatch later, we've danced, chatted with his friends, eye-fucked each other most of the night, and I've wooed him with my wit and charm.  We had a great time. We leave after way too many drinks, get to my house, and with all the compliments, eye-banging, and the kids gone, things start happening very quickly. Clothes fly off , sweat happens, volcanoes explode, and with the amount of alcohol we had, let's just say, various holes were violated. A good time was had by all. 

The next day, my ass was a little sore, but I thought nothing of it. I had on a thong and thought to myself, "Bad choice after the night you just had Mustang Sally." I go about my day, pulling the thong out of my ass every 3.2 minutes, wishing I would have made a more sensible choice that morning.

The next morning rolls around and I am like, "What in the fuck happened to my asshole?"  Mr. Boothang calls while I am still in bed, I made a joke and told him I felt like I was anally raped in the night. He laughed and made some joke about the size of his penis and lasting effects of sinjuries when he is involved.  I thought nothing of it.  He came over later that evening, and being sex fiends and a relatively new couple, we're back at it...He stops mid stroke and says,"Well, I know why your asshole hurts."  I'm all, "What???" He then stretches my ass cheeks as far as they will go and gets all eyeball to brown eye with my rectum. We have been dating about a month at this juncture, so while I'm down with getting "probed" down there on occasion, I'm not too excited about being "observed" in such a fashion.  I fuss at him saying I'm sure it's nothing and basically tell him to get back to work...Afterward, I go check myself out and observe what looks like my asshole falling out of my asshole. While fearing that I may actually have to pick up my asshole off of the bathroom floor, I am still more mortified at the fact that my new boyfriend just saw my asshole hanging out.  I immediately attribute this to his trip to Pound Town a few nights previously and proceed to freak the fuck out. 

I call my doctor the next morning to get in for an emergency appointment, and explain to the nurse what is going on. "Yes, I said something large is protruding from my rectum". How much more of an emergency can this be? It doesn't help that after looking at WebMD,  I had practically diagnosed myself with ass cancer or a rectal prolapse only to find out I have  giant fucking internal prolapsing hemorrhoid dangling on the precipice of my asshole.  Did  I say GIANT? So giant that my doctor was prescribing my Tucks until he saw it. Then was all, "We need to have that thing removed", GIANT?  

Needless to say, Boothang is still around. He's likely a keeper after entering me only moments after seeing that thing on my asshole. But then again, he's a man afterall and is also the likely the cause of the prolapse. When I told him, he seemed more proud than concerned. That's normal right?