Family Reunion in Michigan v. A Screening for Cancer of the Butthole

Of those two experiences, both of which I endured this week, Michigan was probably less painful. Probably.

From Saturday through Wednesday, I was imprisoned, er, ensconced in a quaint shabby-chic cottage in Saugatuck, Michigan alongside my mom, dad, brother, stepdaughter, and spouse. One of those five people was a pleasant travel companion. (Hint: I'm legally bound to him.) The other four should probably refrain from contacting me for several days, as the mere timbre of their voices could send me spiraling out of control. Like, I might get crazy on their asses.

Seriously though, the trip wasn't entirely unbearable. My aunts, uncle, assorted cousins and cousin-spawn were there (housed in seperate-but-similar gingerbread prisons), and I don't get to see them nearly enough. We ate heaps of ice cream, fished for salmon, went on a riotous dune buggy ride, and got buffeted by unlikely whitecaps in Lake Michigan. So it didn't exactly suck all the time.

I'm grateful for my family's generosity, and it was kind of cool seeing my stepdaughter frolic with my cousins, but I'm just not a Family Vacation-type person at all. At all. I can only handle the alleged "wisdom" of children in small doses (You say that cloud looks like a hippo? FASCINATING!) and I'd much rather vomit in Vegas than supervise in Saugatuck. You know how some folks need to detox after a week of debauch? I need to re-tox. Bad.

The demands of the vacation taxed me so thoroughly that I woke up yesterday with a familiar pinched sensation in my abdomen. I have long assumed this pain to be a bleeding ulcer, because 1.) it only occurs when I'm aggravated and b.) it usually results in major blood. Ass-blood. I think I might have even mentioned my magical bleeding ass in Candy Girl albeit in a more oblique, editor-friendly way.

I decided I'd get my "ulcer" mended once and for all, so I made a hasty doctor's appointment and trucked over to North Memorial Clinic, which is like a block from my house. But when I got there, Doc was alarmed. She listened to my symptoms, stuck her thumb up my ass like Little Jack Horner, massaged my organs with her free hand and declared "This isn't good." Then she murmured something about the Big C. TITTYFUUUUUUCK!

She sent me down the hallway for a few stomach x-rays and a blood draw. I'm wearing this blue robe and trembling because, jeez, I might have CANCER OF THE BUTTHOLE. The x-ray tech is alarmed by my nipple rings. They do look creepy-cool when viewed through misty ghostflesh.

Then I go back to the regular doctor. She's studied my blood and informs me with relief that I'm not anemic, which is apparently an early symptom of You-Know-What in people with bleeding asses. There's also no evidence of anything funky on my x-rays. She refers me to a gastroentrologist and I schedule a CT scan and a tentative colonoscopy. I didn't think colonoscopies were a big deal since Katie Couric had one on TV, but apparently they have to sedate you and put a huge camera up your butthole. It's like wacky gonzo porn!

Jonny, a known cyberchondriac, spent the rest of the day Googling my symptoms, and he came to the logical conclusion that I probably have Crohn's disease. That would actually be a totally manageable diagnosis. Especially compared to cancer of the butthole.

Other than that, I got nothing. Oh, this morning I was "interviewed" by a screaming Mancow Muller, who actually is cancer of the butthole. What a cockstain. And to think I used to enjoy his Eagle Insurance commercial when I lived in Chicago. Blame the chick clutching the giant prop eggs to her boobs. ("You can't beat these!")

For some reason I have yet to suss out, Libertarians seem to hate me. Mancow isn't the first Libertarian to randomly dis me without provocation, although in the latter case, I suspect someone was a little jealous of someone else's awesomeness. If any Libertarian Diablo Cody fans are reading this right now, know that I greatly appreciate your support, because I get no love from your more strident buddies.

I'm going to wash my teeth now, because it's late morning and I feel like a derelict. Tonight, Jonny and I head out to Camp Rikandmissi, Saturday we swat mosquitos, and Sunday I jet off to L.A. for a week of glamourous rental sedans, pitch meetings, and Farmer's Market burritos consumed at bulimic speed. I'm having lunch with Anna Faris on Monday and I'm psyched because I loved her in Lost in Translation and Jonny and I are not-so-secretly enamored with the Scary Movie franchise. I'm bringing my laptop to L.A. so I might get in a blog entry or three.

Much love from the butthole trenches,
Diablo