Absolute Clownshoes

Gah.  Ok. So I met a woman on tinder. We’ll call her duckface as that’s apparently how she looks at herself when snapping selfies.  It was a random match - her main pic wasn’t cringe so when she shot a message and seemed hot to trot (“let’s not be text buddies!”) I was accommodating. There were tertiary flags around texting - I guess she sent her phone number fast, meh., I’m cool with that. She texted a lot. Like frequently and rapidly - staccato-fire sometimes for 3-5 like she couldn’t finish a thought. But I was still optimistic, and made plans for Saturday. This was on…idk wed night or maybe Thursday. Today was absolutely fucking batshit.  Round I of the redflags (imagine, if you will, a series of Russian nesting dolls. Each construed from a papier-mâché waxen crimson bandana. Imagine a series of this continuing on into the the microscopic where you’ve got fuckin Ant-Man poking in to see if you’re crushing the little folks as you continue to shuck):  Undisclosed s...

I'm 45. I thought I was 41 for two years and that set me back a bit but I've run the numbers and unless we are  sliding into a singularity, time should be holding up putting me looking down the barrels of year 46 come September. So. It's time for the butt stuff... no, not anal play , I'm talking colonoscopy.  MyChart gave me a one-click option to schedule what seems to be a $300 out-of-pocket visit during which we discussed my health (more focused on my mental health tbh) and I was presented with two options going forward with my behind. Option One: schedule a colonoscopy with Maine Gastro. Option Two: take a poop envelope home and supply a sample (brain registers this as a poo-velope , snickers ensue). Not rocket science here. Quite the opposite, thank God. Not a ton of fun, but not that much of a big deal... they supply a biodegradable sheet of paper for you to set in the toilet bowl and void upon, as well as a plastic receptacle with a removable stick to swab (and ...