What? More snot?

Let’s be honest- at this point I almost have no choice but to morph this blog from a spewing of mindless drivel to a spewing of health related dysfunctions, including examples of my patheticness when sickly. This is not to say I’m over being sick, because I’m not. We have officially kicked off week two in Robin’s Misery Campaign and what better way to make my proposed format transition than by notifying everyone that from this point forward, I will talk incessantly about bowel movements, mucus balls, eye goop, bloody snot and vomiting.

Only I hate talking about bowel movements, this is just where I draw the line. They shouldn’t be discussed with anyone outside of the healthcare profession or that one friend who talks openly about dropping the kids off at the pool. The friend who will openly and unashamedly tell you that now is definitely not the best time to visit the ladies because she’s about to go in there and coat the pipes. We all have this friend so it does you no good to deny it.

It’s just I’ve spent a lifetime of listening to my grandmother describe color and texture and frequency and suppository insertion and pain of poop removal. Add onto that another lifetime of listening to my mother bitch about how she has to smile and nod with concern or appreciation during these stories, and it’s like being tag teamed by herds of angry rhinoceros and gassy warthogs. The rhinoceros are pissed because they’ve had their delicate ears assailed with stories of poop carnage and the warthogs are oblivious to the fact that a) eating the crunchy caterpillars gives them lower intestinal difficulties and b) the rhino’s aren’t really that keen on hearing about the rectal expelling of the caterpillars.

Obviously I need to come up with better analogies. The point being that I’m not going to talk about poop. My poop, your poop or your girlfriend’s poop. I will, however, talk about cat poop. Because that shit stinks and it’s especially foul when it gets stuck in the kitty cat butt-fur. Besides, my whole goal in life is to grow up to be the cantankerous lady next door who smells faintly of cat litter. It’s just an added bonus if I get to smell like cat litter tainted with poop. It’s like asking god to strike a trifling whore with a case of chlamydia and instead he gives her a kid plus thirty pounds of stretch-marked baby weight.