I don’t know if this quite qualifies as a confession, but it’s my decision so I’ll say it does.
I was 28 years old before I figured out why my mother told me to wrap pads in tp or in the wrapper the next one comes in before throwing them away. At the time, I thought it was to hide them better.
I’m looking for a new apartment and it’s so irritating. It should be so much easier than it is. You would think with the internet being what it is that landlords would get a clue. Craigslist is free and easy to use. So far things seem to be about the same as 10 years ago when I was looking for my first apartment.
I’ve had a lot of sex (by most people’s standards), with different partners and for various reasons. One of the things I’ve learned, looking back, is that I’ve had the best sex with the guys that I was most attracted to.
Great sex, for me, has not been about how big the guys dick was, how experienced/inexperienced he was (one of my top five had only been with one other girl before me) or the various positions he uses. It has all come down to attraction.
I was listening to the radio a few weeks ago and the DJ’s were talking about a new dating website called 7orbetter.com. The gimmick is that all the guys on the site are (supposedly) 7 inches or larger. The main page says: “Size matters. Take the guesswork out of dating.”
That’s great and all, I guess. I only have a few problems with it.
Upon entering a single-stall public restroom, your first order of business should be to lock the door behind you. You know, to prevent other people from barging in on you and see you doing your business. It’s embarrassing for both parties when something like that happens. Especially when you can both clearly see who the other party is.
For some reason I’ve been thinking a lot about public bathrooms lately. I think work inspires me to write about them. It did today anyway.
I have certain weirdnesses with public bathrooms. I like them, and all, considering I won’t go to the bathroom (number 2) at my friends house if they’re home/awake/in the house. But I hate bathroom talkers.
I’ve been lazy lately. And depressed. Which makes it hard to feel like writing anything. So I decided to start something that may be a reoccurring topic-confessions.
These aren’t mind blowing confessions. Not like “I killed someone” type of a thing. More like “I’m reliving my grossness.” Yeah. Everybody wants to know about someone else’s grossness.
I am the queen of public restrooms. (That doesn’t sound like a good thing, does it?) Being afraid of someone (that I know) hearing me in the bathroom has led me down this path. I would rather use a dirty public restroom than one at my friends house if poo is involved. I don’t care if people that I don’t know can hear/smell everything. They are not important.
You know how, when you’re a kid growing up, you promise yourself that there are certain things you’re never going to be? And then you end up being exactly what you didn’t want to be?I think I’m making the final move towards being what I didn’t want to be. I have become Mrs. Crankypants. Allow me to add a picture of what I’m feeling like lately.
Oh, no. One of the barbie princesses white trash soap opera stars that I work with finally got fired. (They seem to think they’re barbie princesses so everyone has to kneel and kiss their asses. I will never be one of those people.)
I refer to them as “my white trash soap opera” because I get the pleasure (and it is funny, really) of listening to them discuss their lives everyday during lunch. “My baby daddy” this and “his skanky girlfriend” that. They all have a minimum of one child and one baby daddy. Two of them share a baby daddy. That’s class right there.
