Everyone else is at a company meeting. I have been allowed to miss the meeting because I am leaving the company in a matter of weeks.
I've turned my radio up a little too loud. I've unbottoned the next button down on my shirt. Next I think I'll sit my bare ass on Mouth's keyboard and rub my hoo hoo dilly on her phone receiver.
Yeah, that's what I'll do!
Posted by Taylor on July 19, 2005 @ 11:06 amIt's definitely getting worse. I've really done well, all things considered. I made it almost six months without ever feeling like I really needed it.
For the record, I no longer feel that way. I need it. Now. Yesterday. 12 days ago.
I went to see Fantastic Four yesterday. I could tell you what I thought about the movie, but all I'd really like to talk about are the thoughts that were running through my mind re: the three hot men in the cast. I'm actually not even going to lie about it. Even Jessica Alba (whom I typically don't like) was turning me on in that skin-tight just-enough-cleavage blue number.
Even watching the news isn't safe. I turned on the news this morning to find that my usual moderately-attractive-in-that-news-anchor-kind-of-way news anchor was out for the day and had been replaced by a young-and-kind-of-too-cute-to-be-a-news-anchor news anchor. I realized that I may or may not have a serious problem on my hands when I started to lick the television screen.
Okay, I didn't really lick the television screen, but that's only because I was in a rush to get out the door. I suppose I'll really have a problem when I actually stop and make the time to lick the television screen. I'm not there yet, people, but I don't know how much more of this I can endure!
Also, it seems that something I said a few days back has been misconstrued. I don't want to quit blogging. I think I just want to move to a new place. I'm so over Diaryland, people. If I do move, I'll be sure to tell both all three all four all five of my readers (Hi Con and Bits and Kate and Chris and Mare!) where to find me next.
Also, okay, I get the point people! More than 2 people read this thing. I promise not to go anywhere any time soon (blatant lie, by the way. I'm so picking up and moving to a new location soon).
Mother called me into the kitchen. When I sat down at the breakfast bar she started to tell me a story. She was a young girl. She'd crept into her father's bedroom while he was sleeping and found his stash of dirty magazines. She, along with some of her friends, took those magazines outside and behind a large rock. They were curious. They wanted to know all about these forbidden pleasures and no one was willing to indoctrinate them so they took matters into their own hands.
I sat and listened to this story, all the while wondering why I'd been called in to hear it. Then she said, "I found your porn under the bathroom sink."
She'd found my porn under the bathroom sink!
She'd found my porn under the bathroom sink?
A) I didn't own any porn. B) Had I owned porn I would have been smarter than to hide it under the bathroom sink!
Obviously, I denied ownership. She said she'd already been to my brother and that he wouldn't claim the magazine either. She wasn't mad, but wanted me to know that these types of publications objectify women and depict them in a less-than-flattering light. I was mortified that she didn't believe me! I begged her to believe me! I was afraid that she'd think less of me.
Now I love to rub that story in her face. The proof couldn't have been any more in the pudding (and by pudding I mean the fact that I don't like naked women in any light. In fact, if there are going to be naked women in the room, I'd prefer there to be no light at all.)
I was thinking about porn today.
I don't really think about porn. I don't like porn. I didn't see an honest to goodness porno movie until I was a freshman in college. It was straight porn and very bad straight porn at that. I'd just moved into my dorm and only met the girl down the hall a few days before, but I'd known her roommate since the summer. She invited me over to watch straight porn and drink red wine out of red plastic SOLO cups. We sat in bean bag chairs. I don't know which of the three I found least appealing: the porn, the SOLO cups, or the bean bag chairs.
I didn't see gay porn until the following summer. A guy that I may or may not have been dating at the time invited me over for a movie. He might have said movie, but I was still in my salad days and, thus, probably wouldn't have picked up any such inflection in his voice. Even then I knew that "Come over and watch a movie" is the universal euphemism for "Come over and get nekkid", so I never really expected to watch a movie, but I really didn't expect to walk into the living room and find 4+ naked Czechs getting all sorts of nasty on the television.
I wouldn't consider myself conservative, but the thought of watching other people have sex has never turned me on. It's all just so contrived.
So why was I thinking about porn? Because my boyfriend lives 3,119.59 miles away (you know I just Mapquested that, too) and I keep thinking that there must be some way to allay at least one aspect of this anguish. Unfortunately, though, I still refer to my own private part as a hoo hoo dilly, so I don't think I'm ready for the big guns.
We all know I'm moving back to San Francisco (largely in part to fact that I only talk about it every 9 seconds and, oh, also the giant digital countdown I've raised here in town).
I'm also thinking that it's time to move off of Diaryland. Under three different names I've been here for five years (note how I'm skillfully omitting the first time I moved off of Diaryland, posted two and a half times, then dropped off the face of the planet).
I'll decide if I really want to move off of Diaryland after I make my real life move. I don't really know what that move is going to make of my little corner of the Web.
Posted by Taylor on July 15, 2005 @ 7:49 pmWitch hazel and hydrogen peroxide are not the same thing.
Liviasgarden was really trying to be helpful when she suggested I try a little witch hazel to ameliorate some of the itch I've been experiencing from my recent monthly manscaping. What she doesn't know, though, is that I'm a complete monkey. A monkey who, for some inexplicable reason, managed to make it 23 years thinking that witch hazel was just a fancy name for hydrogen peroxide.
Believe you me, you do not want to be splashing hydrogen peroxide onto your freshly-shaven hoo hoo dilly! I have, however, duly noted this as a potential form of torture as I'm a firm believer that one can never have too many methods of torture in one's repertoire.
After applying some aloe gelly (that's what it says on the bottle. Aloe gelly. I've never been partial to the word jelly, but there's something about gelly that really upsets me) to the afflicted area, I did have a few minutes of relief, but the itch persists.
At this point, even cinnamon & raisin oatmeal sounds like a good idea.
Posted by Taylor on July 15, 2005 @ 11:24 am