Not For the Faint of Heart

DISCLAIMER: No, seriously.  You may not want to read this… But, I’m going to write it anyway.  

So, remember when I said I was getting ready to do the Master Cleanse.  Yeah, well that’s going to have to get put on hold.  Why? You may ask.  Well you shouldn’t but I’m going to tell you anyway.  I am seriously, seriously constipated.  

Still want to keep reading… It’s only going down from here.

Well, the other night I had heard that the Saline Cleanse was a good alternative to the Master Cleanse (it is also a part of the cleanse, but I had heard it was quite effective on it’s own.)  So, I tried it.  1 Quart of water and 2 large tablespoons of salt heated a bit on the stove so the salt can melt.  Then you drink it.  All of it.  Quickly.  Sounds easy, right?  Well, it’s not.  I almost vomited in the process.  But, I finished it.  Allegedly, it should take effect in 15 minutes-2 hours. So, I waited.  And waited.  And waited some more to no avail.  I had also heard that sometimes it can be ineffective on the first try, but is after subsequent daily tries.  By work I mean Niagra Falls out of the butt. By not working I mean, you should at least have a bowel movement just without the “flushing”/”cleansing” experience.  I, however, experienced neither.  Fucking awesome.

I didn’t think much of this that night.  I figured I just did it wrong.  The odds of that where pretty great – considering I screw things up all the fucking time quite frequently.  I decided I’d wait until Katie got back into town to actually begin the cleanse.  (Although, I haven’t had a drink since Sunday… so suck it, bitches.)  

Today, I thought I’d try that saline flush again.  One, I wanted to try to cleanse my body once more.  And two, because I’d failed to have a bowel movement since Sunday morning (today is Wednesday, by the way.)  This time I read up on it a bit more thoroughly.   

Try #2:  Heat, mix, chug, and wait.  Wait some more.  Still fucking waiting. 

At this point I’ve begun to grow concerned.  I have a belly full of salt water.  And no pooping, not even a little gurgling, not even one little fart in 4 days… This had just moved from the annoyance zone to a serious problem.  

Once Katie arrived from her weekend getaway I decided it was time to go about my next plan of action.  Blue Bottle.  Blue Bottle’s New Orleans style iced coffee is sure to give you the “urge” before you even finish the cup.  It is the most beautiful natural laxative ever.  So, as soon as she got in the door I explained my “predicament”.  Katie quickly replied, “Yeah, if a Blue Bottle can’t cure that – then you’ve got a serious problem.”  I knew she was right.  We then set off to get a coffee and a copy of my house keys (which I thought I had lost earlier this week – this later becomes an interesting part of my tale…)  

Upon arriving back at home, Katie’s Blue Bottle had already taken it’s toll. (Sorry Kates)  I, however, felt nothing at all.  Well, nothing except for the panic that I may never be able to take a shit again.  My serious problem has just escalated to full on crisis mode.  Which lead to crazed googling of “can one die from constipation?”  

What I learned is that, “you can not die, though you may be in severe pain, and should probably go see a doctor.”  I hate the doctor by the way.  HATE.  I once walked around for 2 months with a broken wrist because I refused to see a doctor.  It still hurts like hell when the weather changes.  And, I wasn’t feeling any excruciating discomfort at this point so I figured I had a few good days left in me before my colon would explode.  So, I told Katie I had to go to the drug store to get some sort of over the counter medicinal laxative.  She whole-heartedly agreed… since the Blue Bottle test was an utter failure. 

At the drug store I had my choice of plenty of laxatives.  But ALL of them were “gentle” and would take overnight to work.  I didn’t fucking have all night… maybe two days ago I had all night.  Not anymore.  No I needed something to work now, as in RIGHT NOW.  How the hell do teenage girls use laxatives as an effective method of bulimia. Goddamn it, if those hookers can figure this shit out (no pun intended, no really) then I certainly should.  And then I saw it, the shiny little box that said “Effective Immediately”.  Ding ding ding!!!  I bent down to read the box a tish more closely… and then a very disturbing word popped out at me. Suppository.   Yep, nope… not quite that desperate yet.  Exit only.  I’ve said that enough times is my life… Ahem.

So, I came home empty handed.  Totally defeated.  

Until, I remembered… I was annoyed with the boyfriend.  I had texted him hours ago about when were meeting up to watch “LOST”.  With no response.  I had also texted him earlier that week to see if he maybe had my keys.  No response.  Thus, I assumed they were completely missing.  Now, I was pissed.  So, as I like to do when I get mad – I send slightly passive aggressive messages.  This one read something like, “I guess in that case we aren’t watching it tonight.” (Not really mean, just enough to imply,”What the fuck, sketch ball!”)  

Ring, ring.  Ring, ring.  He’s calling me.  Good he knows I’m pissed, let’s let him suffer a minute.  REJECT.  This is not nice, I know… but he’d been MIA for 3 days.  I do not tolerate such things, not without mild punishment.  Then I typically forget.  I fume for a moment.  Oh, cute he’s left a voicemail.  I’ll call him back.  Later.

WAIT. What is that feeling.  Oh my god.  I think I actually have the “urge”!  Fucking finally.  

So, the moral of this story is that the Master Cleanse is the devil.  Getting pissed off at your boyfriend cures constipation.  And accidently blocking your boyfriends phone number from your text messaging service is not a good thing.  Especially, when he does in fact have the keys you’ve lost… and you’ve already spent $50 to get another key card to get yourself into your apartment  building.  Amazing.


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