How I Became Best Friends with my Butt Hole

Yea. You read this title correctly. I am gonna talk about butt holes.

I don't mean men this time (for once). I mean real butt holes. Anuses! Where da poop comes out! It's going to get pretty graphic, I am just warning you.

...Sometimes I think, "Meri! You should clean up your language and make your blog content more family friendly. That way people might actually, yknow, share it with each other or something." But then, that just wouldn't be my blog now would it? It also wouldn't be as much fun (for me). So you can get over it or get out. Now is your chance.

*Also of note, I have no idea if butt hole is one word or two so if I got it wrong and that bothers you, I deeply apologize. I tried googling butt holes for reference and then got horribly traumatized so I stayed away as much as I could*

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I've always been really grossed out by butt holes. I mean seriously. That is our poop flume right there. And the only thing grosser than poop is vomit which *thank god* doesn't come out the same hole as our poop. Otherwise it'd be way too much to handle. The only reason I give our mouths any credit is because that is where our tongues are kept and we use those to french kiss and eat delicious food and such. So those are ok. But butt holes though? That's another story.

...Especially the thought of anal intercourse. Like. No. Just no. You can't put a penis up there. There are poop remnants and other gross shit (literally) up there. Ow. No. Ew. Gross. Bleck. Stop. Just stop talking about it. Never mention it again.

Actually there are going to be a lot more butt holes beyond this point. I'm such a rebel. 

In general, I just regarded my butt hole as an awful place of desecration that should never be spoken or thought of. I shamed it. Until one fateful day.

When I was living in Lake Forest, I lived in a house built in the 60s or 70s that was just covered in mirrors. It was mirrors abound! It was kind of awesome because there was this huge empty room I put my pole up in and one wall was entirely mirrors. It was almost the perfect pole space, if the ceiling had not been slightly slanted. My room was also 25% mirrors. One wall was entirely a sliding closet with doors of mirrors. So I got to stare at my beautiful self laying depressed in bed all day long. It was awesome.

One day I was changing after a shower. I was in my birthday suit, looking for some clothes or something, who the fuck knows. Well, I bent over looking for something on my bed and in that exact moment I did two things at once that has no explanation. It was just fate. I turned around to see myself in my wall of mirrors bending over and I also farted at the very same time. It was a moment that changed my life forever. For in that tiny moment I saw something beautiful and magical and so mysterious about nature. I saw myself fart. Straight out of my butt hole.

Everything changed from that moment on.

I don't know how to describe it to you, but it was possibly the closest thing I've ever had to a bonafide spiritual experience (not really). These tiny little flaps in between my butt cheeks just opened up to this dark little hole that puffed out like it was saying "hello" in the nicest, kindest, gentlest way anything ever could. It is like it said me, "Hello friend. I see you and you see me and we are a part of each other. We know each other on the most intimate level. And I am here. And you are there. And we are one."

It was very deep.

The moment, I mean. Not the butt hole. Although I guess it kind of was deep, too.

I fortunately fart a lot (little known fact! I have very good muscle control and an extremely talented at hiding it. Hm maybe I should put that on my dating profile...?) so I had the opportunity to watch myself do it again. And again. And again. And I just kept watching myself fart! Why was it so fascinating?? Didn't I still find butt holes and poop to be gross? Yes. Yes, I did... But there was something about it. My butt hole was trying to tell me something. Something important. And I had to listen.

That day changed my life. Well, ok. It at least changed my perspective on my butt hole. But doesn't that at least say something about life? About how things we previously thought we hated can actually be a very meaningful and dear thing to us? About how we can find beauty in the worst parts of the world, even butt holes? That the unexpected can give us joy and comfort? After all, I still think taking a really big poop when you have been holding it in for awhile feels better than any orgasm I've ever had.

...

Ok. That really only just speaks to the people I've slept with. Shit is literally better than the sex I've had.

Hm.

Well.

At least I have my butt hole to comfort me.