Wear Clean Draws  (because there’s 5 million ways to kill a ceo)

i’m so bad. i’m delighted to have the house to myself for 8 whole days! it’s not a happy reason that R is gone: his dad just got out of the hospital. But i’m so bad because when I learned he’d go there for over a week, I was happy to be alone!

i just went upstairs to the kitchen to pull the asparagus I was steaming off the stove. Set them aside to eat later. not hungry now. i turned around to go back to the office, and found myself raising my arms in the air, shimmying across the floor, forcing it to be slippery with my socks, and singing, loudly and badly, the lyrics to Manfred Mann’s Earth Band’s one hit wonder, “Blinded by the Light”.

i laughed to myself as i skipped down the stairs, wondering why I felt like I should do that when, in fact, I could do that with R here too. He wouldn’t care. In fact, he probably wouldn’t notice. And if he did, he either would be too busy or engrossed in his own thing that it wouldn’t occur to him to be bothered wondering what was up. We are like that. Pretty uninterested in each other when absorbed by our own thing.

And even if he did happen to pay attention, he’d be like, “Oh, yeah, well she’s a crazy broad like that every so often.”

Which is true, I will loudly and badly sing out lyrics every so often. Or mock some expression I’d heard. Or do some sing-songy voice mocking someone on the radio or television. Then there is the ridiculous humming I occasionally find myself doing - at work! Normally, I’d be inclined to whoop out “Yeeha!” why? not sure. But the expression is of delight and happiness that something’s done. In lieu of that, I’ve apparently taken to humming some diddy I make up.

fucking crazy broad is what I’m sure workmates - men - think. as a random bitch about men at work: i really hate hate hate the way they go off in their boys-own way, having lunch together, bosses mixing it up with subordinates and never, ever inviting the women who work with them. Same thing with their Friday night get togethers. Not a lot of them do this, but it’s just enough to be really freaking noticeable as they all mill about waiting for the magic hour, and none of them ever ask any of the women to join them.

speaking of work: i was sitting on the john at work trying to unwrap a damned OB tampon last Monday. I bought the suckers so I’d have them in my purse, more protected than the tampax kind and smaller. The tampax kind get all skanked up and the wrapping gets ripped and i haven’t been able to find one of those containers you can put them in.

so I bought OB tampons. Well, fuck OB tampons. I could not for the life of me unwrap them and sat there, like Diego the dog who loved to eat tampons. You’d walk in the bathroom or find him in the living room, tussling with a tampon. Then, he’d look up at you, tampon hanging out of his mouth like it was a ceegar. I’m trying to unwrap the one and only fucking tampon I had, with my freaking teeth and thinking, oh hey, I must look like Diego smoking a tampon. sheeeeit.

Why our company does not have tampon dispensers in the bathrooms, I do not know. But I’d like to bitch up a storm someday. I always think that when I’m, uh, ragging it. And then I forget to write an email or something to gripe.

Not that I want to pay 50cents for a fucking tampon, but when I’ve not had any and have had to stuff toilet paper up my crotch every 20 minutes, I’m muttering to myself: what a bunch of tightwadded old fuddy duddy people who run this place.’

speaking of the public restroom at work, you all may recall that we had a super shitter terrorizing our bathroom: a woman who didn’t like flushing or cleaning up after herself and who may just have taken to, one day, smearing shit on the walls. or so it’s been rumored.

Our floor is considered just too gross for words b/c some of the women just don’t clean up after themselves.

so one day, I’m sitting on the john, noticing that someone had made up some fliers from clipart. There was a picture of an outhouse, with a little cut out moon and three stars and the words: “Please flush the toilet blah blah,. We don’t want our restroom to look like an outhouse.”

I thought: well, shit, why not? I’d like little moon and star cutouts on the door, personally. I was really tempted to bring a marker next time so I could write, “Why not? I think the cutout moons are awesome for the stall doors.”

Not to mention, it irritated me in the sense that it was typically classist bullshit. (My, a little more scatological than usual…. huh?) Poor people have outhouses, so naturally that is what signified uncleanliness. I mean, how many of these people have ever been in an outhouse? hmmm?

IME, outhouses are generally NOT that dirty. I’m talking the ones people have on their old homesteads and farms — not porta-johns or camp toilets.

Outhouses stink, true. I mean, even if they are filthy, outhouses are made of wood so it is kind of all absorbed, blending in, and its dark, so you can’t really see the filth. Hence, not really as filthy as the mess women have made in our granite-countered, oyster-tiled bathrooms.

And sure, there’s no flushing in an outhouse. But in our bathroom at work? where there is flushing? some of these women are apparently too pristine to actually flush. Instead of flushing, they leave it for you to see and flush. I mean, they apparently feel that they are so pristine they must wrap layers and layers of toilet paper all over the seat. because their ass is so special, just one layer won’t do. so, they pile up 10 layers to protect their pristine ass from the seat. Then, they take a massive dump and leave it there for you to admire. Because they are too pristine to touch the flusher themselves. Did their grandmothers not teach them how to use toilet paper or a foot?

Besides, they are so pristine that they feel others couldn’t possibly be on the same level of pristineness, so they leave their pile of doo for everyone else to deal with.

niiiiiice.

So, OB tampons? You suck!

Hooray for moon cutouts on the doors to toilet stalls.

yay for singing and dancing around an empty house!

now, I’m getting to work on that article I’m writing. xo