If you’re anything like me, all it takes is a bite of a burrito or a sip of a latte to send you on a one-way trip to bathroom town. I also can’t help it if I’ve got a heavy flow and a wide-set vagina. So when I found a flyer under my door asking for volunteers to participate in a clinical study about gut health, I said sign me up! It’s like I have ESPN or something. Just because that experimental study I participated in last year left me with half of my face paralyzed, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t join this one. Lightening doesn’t strike twice, right? Even when there’s a 30% chance it’s already raining!
I showed up to the lab, (which was really cool, BTW. I’ve never seen a science lab in a barber shop before!) and they told me all I had to do was swallow a pill-sized sensor equipped with genetically engineered bacteria that would diagnose an array of gastrointestinal ailments. I could do that. Amber D’Alessio. She made out with a hotdog. The scientist told me I could read all about the process here and then reiterated that she was not affiliated with MIT and if anyone asked, her name was Professor Cady Heron and she’s from a small town in Africa. “I love her!” I thought, “She’s like a martian.” Also, her name sounded very familiar but I couldn’t quite place it. Anyway, I was ready and excited to see if this pill would allow me to eat ice cream sandwiches outside of the confines of my bathroom.
Professor Heron handed me a small pill, which was the size of a AAA battery. No big deal. I’ve taken horse tranquilizers three times that size. I swallowed the pill and told Professor Heron that her face smelled like peppermint. The pill, which was a sensor, was supposed to communicate data to an app on the Professor’s phone, which would tell her all about the pH, temperature, and pressure inside my GI tract. I don’t really know what any of that means, but I asked if it would give me a solution as to why I have to número dos all the time, and she said, “You go, Glen Coco.” So, I thought that meant yes.
But I was wrong. I never heard the results of my study, and the tons of bacteria that was stuffed into that pill only had one side effect. And that side effect was SO FETCH! A few days after I ingested the pill, I could not stop channeling the comedically brilliant film of 2004, Mean Girls. When people asked me why I participated in a study without hardly any info, the answer was so obvious – “I’m a mouse, duh!” I went full on Regina George. I too wanted to lose three pounds and thanks to the pill not detecting the cause of my constant butt chocolate-river, I did. But this new ailment had some negative side effects too.
Mean Girls is legit pee-in-your pants funny, but not everyone could see the humor in me constantly throwing one-liners their way. My boyfriend was taken aback when I told him he smelled like a baby prostitute and hasn’t spoken to me since. I was half a virgin when I met him! When my therapist asked me why I was acting this way and I told her, “It’s probably because I have a big lesbian crush on you. Suck on that!” she told me we can no longer work together. Ugh. I’m sorry that people are jealous of me but I can’t help it that I’m popular.
I was so curious if the quoting of Mean Girls meant anything for my GI health. Would I eventually feel better? I tried to trick the Professor into calling me back by leaving her this message, “This is Susan from Planned Parenthood, I have her test results. If you could have her give me a call as soon as she can. It’s urgent. Thank you.” Even with such an enticing message straight from the dialogue of Mean Girls, I never heard back from the Professor.
Another unpaid clinical trial in the books and again, the side effects don’t seem to be going away. I guess I’m destined to have stomach issues forever. Whatever. I’m getting cheese fries.