The Bathroom Chronicles

Take II

The only people left were two corner office men. No women in sight. At last I could shit in peace. When I opened the door to an empty bathroom, I practically squealed I was so excited. I chose the large stall with the extra leg room. I carefully placed the toilet seat cover on the toilet as though I were fluffing a pillow for a long night of sound sleep. As I sat down with the crinkle of the cover like music to my ears, in walks someone.

Are you fucking kidding me?! My disbelief immediately curtailed any natural movements, and I knew I had to leave. And, I left defeated.

Take III

Today was like miracle bathroom day. Every time I was in the bathroom, no one was there. I even took my time fixing my hair, adjusting my bra, checking my fly again and again just to feel out about how much time I might have for this to be the day, the day I can finally shit. It was ready to make an exit and an appearance.

A couple of hours later I couldn’t stand it, so I surreptitiously walked to the restroom as though I were about to rob a bank. To my luck, it was empty. Not only was it empty, but there standing before me was Citrus Magic. I hadn’t seen that since the last empty bottle incident. This time it was full. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining. Citrus Magic and I cha-cha’d our way into the extra-leg-room stall. I was relaxed. I just knew this was my day.

It took me a minute to relax, but it eventually started happening, and I was smiling. But then, why did there have to be a But Then? in walks some stupid ass chick. But, a good but this time, I decided I would keep quiet until she did her numero uno and headed out. In silence I waited. And then in silence, she waited.

Are you fucking kidding me?

I wasn’t going to quit that easily, so I sat just a little bit longer.

It only gets better… and then better. Someone else walks in. Fucking Perfect. Now the only two stalls are full. The stand-off begins. My opponent wasn’t giving in. I couldn’t take it… and then it gets better, someone else walks in. The words are uttered, “there’s a line.”

Never have I been in that bathroom with a line. Never.

The stakes have risen. Now, if I get out first, all three bathroom occupants will hear the thunderous rolls of toilet paper. Then, someone will go in after me. That someone will then smell my shit and probably cringe a minute. The second person in line will know it was me too.

So I did it. I gave in. Of course though, there was an extra bonus… all that shit didn’t go down on the first flush. I had to FLUSH TWICE in front of my entire audience of people.

At this point, I was looking up at God, “are you trying to be an asshole on purpose?”


THE JOB:

Every morning I wake up at 7 am with reluctance, squared. I have a job. I have a job with nice people. I have a job where I’m making a decent living.

But all I can wonder is why I’m spending my days doing something I don’t want to do. I don’t want to wake up at 7 am 5 days a week. I can’t stand it. I don’t want to stare at a computer all day.

I know – I know, I know I can’t complain. I just don’t understand why the rules of the game are such.

Now I can’t go to shows on weeknights like I used to. I have to function the next day. I can’t do the one thing that makes me most happy without severely suffering the next day. I particularly can’t be suffering in such a way when I’ve only just begun the job.

While I do feel lucky to have this job and while I know there’s not a job left for me at my old place, I still can’t help but sigh and work on the wrinkles in my forehead.

BOYS:

The “don’t ask me about him” guy is all gone. It was fun for a minute and taught me to never write “don’t ask me about him.” How dumb was I? It basically screamed, “ask me – ask me!”

Oh ‘vell.

Of course sex always comes knocking at the door. Sometimes it’s a 3 am and sometimes it’s an old fuck buddy MySpace messaging you. And so, a dude I met through work ages ago recently broke-up with his girlfriend and of course comes running back to my blow-jobs, the kind that win awards (haha, chicajato, hope you know that phrase).

He has an amazing cock. I wish I could take a picture of it and post it on here. We all have our dreams. He’s even more of a pleaser, so I just may take him up on it.

I do think I’m like a guy in the sex-sense. I really like having it. Hm. I’ve only had sex ONCE (Flavor Flav) in the last EIGHT MONTHS, which is pretty slow for me, so I suppose that’s why I’m a little more hungry for it at the moment.

No prospects for a respectable relationship. I would like one. I would. You know that relationship that lasts forever. Yeah, I want that one right about now. Or not.

A Long, Brief Love Affair

It began how things begin and ended how things end. Not sure about either.

I haven’t really mentioned anything about him to anyone because it was supposed to be your clichéd “friends with benefits.” But then, when does that really work?

If you’re good friends with me, I don’t feel like talking about this, so don’t ask. No matter how good of a friend you are. I want this brief love affair to end here. I always drag these things out being the masochist that I am. I think as I’ve gotten older, these situations have gotten older too. I’m reaching a point where I can almost shrug them off.

So here’s my shrug:

When I met him, I knew he’d recently gotten out of a long-term relationship. How many doomed relationships start with that line?! But, I kinda’ thought he wasn’t my type, so I was in the clear. On our first “date” so to speak, we hung out on my floor, my actual carpeted floor.

We didn’t try to sell ourselves like people do when they’re developing a potentially real relationship. You know, talking about your families and hopes and dreams and all that fucking cheesey shit that we talk about to “connect” with someone else.

He went through my bookshelf and knew my psycho authors/scholars, such as Dawkins, which then led to a conversation about propagation, which many of you know I’m insane about. (for you dirty-minds out there, I don't mean the act). Normally, I’d think a first encounter would make me gag if we discussed poetry, but I have so much on my shelf. He even read a poem by one of my favorite poets. And it didn’t feel forced and make me want to stick my tongue out and my finger down my throat. It oddly was all so natural.

The conversation flowed. The focus soon turned to my iPod that I’d been playing in the background. While in my supine position, he rested his head on my stomach, and we listened to songs from beginning to end. I played with his hair. We changed positions and kissed and played with each other’s finger tips.

As if the night couldn’t be anymore perfect, what does he say?!?!?!??!?!?

“I want to give you an orgasm.”

What the fuck?!?!? And those Miss Curious eyes instantly widened.

I didn’t really know what to say.

“Um, well, I’m not prepared to return the favor,” I so selfishly replied.

I didn’t feel like having that intimacy with his nether-regions. While I really liked him, it wasn’t a “dick in my mouth” like quite yet.

Being um, awesome, he said he didn’t care. Kept his clothes on and went to town.

This was then followed by a massage. Seriously.

Sublimely happy, we lied on our sides with our heads resting on our hands as we stared at each other. It was almost 2 am on a Monday night. Our eyes were practically closed, but he didn’t want to leave, and I didn’t want him to leave.

I knew I needed some sleep, so he headed out. When I closed the door behind him, I looked through the peephole as he walked down the hallway. I had a giddy smile on my face.

The next afternoon he texted me, and we both gushed about our wonderful evening together.

The next night he asked to come over and watch a movie. We actually watched the movie from beginning to end until we touched each other any more than our elbows rubbing up against each other.

One day break from communication.

Didn’t last long. As soon as he got back from his weekend he texted, “just walked in the door, want to hang out?”

Certainly wasn’t playing hard to get.

I made him play a board game with me as we drank beer and both bobbed our heads to my tunes. He was pretty cute about it. I would look down at my cards and smirk, a mirthful smirk. Finally, on this third “date”, the intimacies were reciprocated (do note: no sex). Before that night, I hadn’t even touched his stuff.

Then, two weeks went by with only two texts. He was out of town for a week.

The day after he got back, he wanted to hang out.

Again, not playing hard to get.

This night was filled with the same vigor as the first night. He had me watch Obama’s DNC speech during the Kerry campaign. As we sat at my desk in front of my laptop, we held hands.

He looked at me. I mean he really looked at me. He looked at me so intensely that I had to look away. Before he left he hugged me, a prolonged hug. And then, he hugged me again, another prolonged hug. He massaged my shoulders on the way out.

The ensuing week consisted of missed connections. I was a bit busy and didn’t text when I said I would. I was just starting to genuinely like him and felt that what began as casual wasn’t so casual anymore. I then needed to separate it for a second.

But then, I texted him a week ago about hanging out. He said he’d get back to me.

And then, I haven’t heard from him since.

Here I thought his feelings were more intense than my own. Apparently, I was so-so wrong. He just completely switched off. I don’t understand how I could have been so wrong. I don’t understand. I don’t understand at all. Not at all.

Okay - Okay, I'm Back ;-)

When I got home from work, I remembered that today I’d be back to blogging. All I could think is, “what the hell am I going to write about?!”

My new job has been quite humbling. I forgot what it’s like to start over. I went from knowing exactly what I’m doing to having to ask questions every two minutes and genuinely being angry at myself for not knowing everything right now.

Going into this new job, I knew it was going to take time to adjust, but it still fucking sucks.

I do love this lyric, “there’s no substitute for time.” ‘tis true.

It has been a complete lifestyle change. I’ve gone from starring in a XXX straight to dvd movie to a G-rated Disney movie where everyone’s having babies and selling girl-scout cookies. I now have 3 boxes.

This adjustment has been one big mind-fuck, but I asked for it. I asked for change, and here it is. I’ll be fine. I know I will.

So, why is it I have nothing to write? Well, I come home and my mind is consumed with all the insane new shit I’m learning. I haven’t a creative bone in my body right now. That’s certainly something I need to reclaim. I know I will.

For now, I’m trying to appreciate the little things in life:

1. I appreciate that I’ll never cease to roll my eyes when someone tells me to appreciate the little things in life.

2. Hm, and genuinely… I’m stoked when the elevator’s at my floor when I get there.
I like when my netflix arrive on time, and I like being surprised that some stupid Lindsay Lohan movie arrived instead of some educational foreign film because I know it’ll collect dust before I finally give in and watch the damn thing just so the next Hillary Duff movie in my queue can come a runnin’ already.

3. I like that I can write run-on sentences and not have red-pen written all over it.

For now, the little things that irritate the fuck out of me:

1. Saturday night was the first in what is hopefully a series of “girls’ night out” with my old co-workers. The implication of “girls’ night out” is always drink too much and objectify men. I think we accidentally stepped foot onto the wrong side of the tracks because we ended up in BlazerVille where apparently it’s cool to wear your blazer out to a bar. I’d like to put those guys in with the Expensive-Watch dudes that I will never date. Anyway, I think girls’ night out will likely turn into “girls’ night in” where we drink too much and then drink too much.

2. I haven’t gone to a good show in ages. I went to a show this past Thursday and then another one on Friday, which can be described as crap and crappier.

The Boy Sitch:

A classic, lack thereof a boy sitch. Girls’ night out was a startling reminder of how meeting a partner should actually replace the Hanging Towers of Babylon as one of the Seven Wonders of the World (and why the fuck does everything come in sevens? God, why?)

My argument for such an assertion:

- First, two single people must meet
- These two single people must both be attracted to one another. (how often does this happen?!?!)
- Hopefully they live in the same town or state or country.
- Hopefully girl’s friend doesn’t have a crush on the dude and then girl has to choose between girl or dude.
- Difficult already… and then, they actually have to have stuff in common. Like values and hobbies and shit.
- Then one has to get over his or her insecurities and actually express interest in the other person.
- So they go on a date.
- Then they both need to play their cards right… fucking on a first date could ruin the chances for a second date as could not fucking on the first date.
- Anyway, you make it through the first few dates.
- Again, cards must be played right. This is the time where one person can call the other a little too often and be little to eager and turn the other person right off.
- Hopefully both parties are still emotionally available and shit after some time.
- Then they get more serious and hopefully they can actually communicate and get along just a tad more than they argue.
- Then, they both have to want to take the same next steps like declare boyfriend-girlfriend’ism or move in together or get engaged or married or have kids. Bor-ring!!!
- And each person has to carefully give security to the other person.
- And jesus – I could go on and on… this list is making me appreciate singledom. I mean come-on!!!

HEADACHE!!!

Okay – okay, I successfully talked myself out of wanting a relationship without even going into that diatribe trying to do so.

Sheesh.

Okay – I’m going to stop here. I’m hoping that the 8th episode of Rock of Love II has finally downloaded, and I can watch the damn thing. God, I love strippers and alcoholics.