Just Can't Get Enough.

Okay, I wasn't going to write about this at all because I'm not usually the TMI girl and nobody really cares about the state of my area but me, right? However, there are always exceptions to the rule and this is mine. The punchline of this particular scenario is great and I'm always willing to humiliate myself to entertain you lot, so I'm going to go there. You've been warned, so don't be all, "ew! TMI!" or I will never speak to you again. I mean it.

Here goes:

So a few weeks ago I was testing out a couple of different bike saddles because my old one was completely shot. This is not something I love to do because there are eighty billion different kinds of saddles and the Internets are no help, as everyone SWEARS BY this one and ABSOLUTELY LOVES this other one and the next review will be the complete opposite. It's a personal thing, a bike saddle.

I tried one with the center cut-out thingy and it seemed, fine, really comfortable. I rode it again later in the week and the next day my entire area was NOT HAPPY. I blamed the saddle. I was...really sore. Things hurt. I was peeing a lot. You see where this is going?

After a couple of days I realized this was not saddle-soreness but instead something else completely. I thought maybe an UTI but I've never had on and had heard they were excruciating. I was not excruciated, just really uncomfortable. I did exactly what you're not supposed to do: I went online to self-diagnose. An hour later I was completely convinced I had: a) Interstitial cystitis, b) a tumor or c) some not-yet-discovered S-T-D that had lain dormant since college. Damn hell tarnation.

I finally went to the 24-7 urgent care place because I figured I should maybe first find out if I had a UTI. I went on labor day and tried not to touch anything because everyone else in the place had pig flu. It was a germ factory, that place. My doctor was a weird little man who seemed as confused by my symptoms as I was. I peed in a cup and a while later the computer spit out my results - a very, very mild UTI. So mild he wasn't going to give me antibiotics. Oh, and that will be $25, please.

Well, FINE then. Thanks for not helping. I guess we're just supposed to hope this clears up by itself and doesn't turn into kidney failure? Whatever, fine. (I really need a real doctor, I know, but I generally only get sick on holidays and Sunday evenings, so what's a real doctor going to do for me?)

After that, the symptoms started getting weird. I had tenderness in the upper portion of my legs, which is not where you're supposed to be tender when you have an UTI. Then I noticed the Weird Patches. Gah! I had weird bumpy itchy patches of skin right at the very tippy-top of my butt (you know, right where lower back ends and crack begins.) I couldn't get a good look at it and called for Kenny's help. This was NOT good. OMG OMG OMG I was clearly diseased and going to die.

Kenny took a look, squinted, and looked again. (This is a perfect place to mention that the other night Kenny announced that he was going out in the backyard with his telescope to, "Look for Uranus." I offered to save him a trip and drop my pants right there, which, surprisingly, he did not take me up on. Later he came back and I asked, "So, how was it?" "Pretty small." "Huh, well I could have told you that.")

So, Kenny took a close look at my spreading butt disease and gave me his diagnosis:

Poison Ivy.

Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me. LIKE I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH GOING ON DOWN THERE. How did that even happen? How did I get poison ivy on a portion of my anatomy that never sees the light of day? Anyway, he was right, but I'm happy to report that all that action has since cleared up. My area hasn't seen this much action since...wow. You really think I'm going to finish that sentence? Nosy creeps.

PS. if you just can't get enough of me, here's a new entry on my bike blog.