Once I Was Couth.

OK. Since I have indeed crossed the border that leads one from The Land of Sharing Too Much into The Ghetto of Completely Psychotic Oversharing, I promise that I will not talk about poop, pooping, constipation, or my ass for at least another week.

I'll try, at the very least - just as soon as I'm done with this entry.

Today I took the advice of my elderly neighbor, because who knows more about constipation than old people? She was taking me to the doctor this morning and I asked her if she would mind stopping at the pharmacy on the way home.

"Oh, what did you need?"

"Um..."

"Because I have just about everything at home, that's why I ask." *my neighbor is the sweetest lady on the planet*

"I sort of kind of um well can't go to the bathroom."

Obviously I'm not quite as great with the sharing in real life.

She suggested magnesium citrate. Magnesium citrate comes in a bottle and tastes like sour-ass lemony acid - sort of a Mike's Really Really Really Hard Lemonade. One has to drink an entire bottle of it with a glass of water.

I was not expecting miracles, but I drank the shit and waited to see what might happen.

About an hour later my stomach began to lurch seismically. I could actually look down and see it twisting and turning in protest. It growled so loudly that all three cats came from different rooms in the house to stare at me in fear and wonder.

Apparently stomachs do not like magnesium citrate, and the point of magnesium citrate is that it pisses the stomach off so badly that the stomach spits it all out. Quickly.

I was in the bathroom for about four hours, and I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I was like a human geyser. I think I may have a permanent toilet seat imprint on my ass. I feel as if I have just returned from a long Mexican vacation in which I did nothing but drink the water.

Holy fuck.

My stomach is still cramping and in severe pain, so I don't recommend this remedy unless you are in very dire straits. However I will give it one gold star because it definitely yields results. And how.

This has been today's installment of Ask Dr. Poop. Tune in next week when Jen will attempt to dislodge her reluctant poop with Roman Candles.

I am turning into a thoroughly disgusting human being with no sense of shame. If not working for two years turned me from a lady into a slob then this additional year of sloth has led me further down the path of destruction and morphed me into a dirty, unwashed, manner-free, slouchy, dirtbag.

There was a time in which I went to work in heels, hose, a suit, a pressed blouse, makeup, and good hair. Once there, I did not talk about bodily functions for at least eight hours. I was polite, professional, and answered the phone "Jen Trance," instead of "Yeah?"

Sometimes it's hard for me to believe it, too.

In other news, tomorrow is the J-Man's opening day parade for Little League, as well as his very first game. He got his spiffy little uniform and his spiffy little cap, and with his spiffy little cleats and glove he looks like quite a little athlete.

Until he throws, catches, or bats, that is. Then he just looks mildly sedated.

I remain hopeful.

Tomorrow evening I am going out with this chick and this dude for a vegan dinner and then to a one-man production of Steel Magnolias, which should be interesting.

I am not going to do any shots. Do you hear me?? None. Only beer. No drinks, no shots, no sips, nothing weird, nothing but cheap-ass lite beer.

That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

Goodnight.

11:27 p.m. - 2004-04-23
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