A Bowel Movement, a Betrayal, and a One-Way Ticket to Shady Pines

Listen. I am a firm believer that if you can't openly discuss your bowel movements with your boyfriend, your best friend, your mother, and several hundred strangers on the internet, then what the hell kind of relationships are you even maintaining?!

I don't need people in my life who only celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, and major accomplishments. I need people who will celebrate a successful shit with the same enthusiasm as a college graduation.

AND TODAY, MY FRIENDS, I GRADUATED. 

For those of you unfamiliar with the GLP-1 shots, let me explain something. These little injections are wonderful for a lot of things, but apparently, they also have the ability to convince your intestines to go on an unpaid leave of absence.

There is NO middle ground.

You're either shitting like a goose with a gastrointestinal emergency or your bowels have decided to close up shop, turn off the lights, and leave absolutely no forwarding address.

Well, mine have been CLOSED FOR DAYS.

DAYS, PEOPLE.

At this point, I was beginning to wonder if my digestive system had filed for bankruptcy.

I was bloated. I was cranky. I was uncomfortable. I was starting to take my inability to poop personally.

WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?! I'VE BEEN NOTHING BUT GOOD TO YOU, COLON!

But then...

This morning...

After a good, strong cup of coffee...

The Lord himself reached down, placed a gentle hand upon my shoulder, and whispered:

"Go, my child. It is time."

AND SWEET BABY JESUS, THE FLOODGATES OPENED.

Not literally, thank God. We're celebrating a bowel movement, not calling FEMA.

I POOPED!!!!! 🙌💩

I practically wanted to throw open the bathroom door open at work and release a flock of white doves into the office.

Naturally, I immediately notified my people.

Jet? THRILLED. That's my man. My soulmate. My biggest supporter. A man who understands that sometimes romance is simply congratulating your girlfriend for successfully evacuating her colon.

Amy? EQUALLY THRILLED. That's a best friend right there. A woman who understands that friendship isn't just about being there through heartbreak and life's difficult moments. Sometimes it's about celebrating the fact that your bestie's tummy is back in business.

My Mama?

NOTHING.

CRICKETS.

ABSOLUTE FUCKING SILENCE.

The woman who GAVE BIRTH TO ME couldn't even muster up a "Congratulations, honey!"

FORTY-SEVEN YEARS of being her daughter, and apparently my gastrointestinal victories mean NOTHING to her.

I could have died on that toilet, and she'd probably have just called tomorrow to ask what we were having for dinner.

So anyway, I've spent part of my afternoon researching nursing homes.

Nothing fancy. She clearly doesn't appreciate the finer things in life, like a functioning digestive tract or her daughter's personal triumphs.

I'm thinking somewhere with questionable pudding and bingo twice a month.

Actions have consequences, Mother.

And THAT, my friends, is why you surround yourself with people who love you unconditionally.

People who celebrate the big things, the little things, and apparently the things that require a courtesy flush.

Because love isn't always flowers, romantic dinners, and heartfelt conversations.

Sometimes love is sending a text that says "I FINALLY POOPED!!!" and having someone respond like you just won the fucking lottery.

Jet and Amy, thank you for your unwavering support during this difficult chapter.

Mama, you'll be receiving some brochures in the mail.

Love you all. Stay regular. And for the love of God, appreciate the people who give a shit about your shit.