Today is Chuck’s birthday. He’s a very private person, so I try not to talk about him too much on here. I will say that somehow I’ve managed to bamboozle him into thinking he married up, but I’m pretty sure I’m getting the better end of this deal.
Happy Birthday, Chuck! I love you!
I’ve had this song on my mind all week. One of my favorites. I love Morrissey and The Smiths before he went solo. There is just something very raw and genuine and so very sincere about the music. He just puts all the angst and pain out there. All that stuff that we all feel at some point in our lives or other, but don’t like to speak out loud. And he brings us all to this common denominator. We’re all just human, after all. At the very core of us, we all have the same basic need.
How Soon Is Now
I am the son
and the heir
of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and heir
of nothing in particular
You shut your mouth
how can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
just like everybody else does
I am the son
and the heir
of a shyness that is criminally vulgar
I am the son and the heir
of nothing in particular
You shut your mouth
how can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
just like everybody else does
There’s a club if you’d like to go
you could meet somebody who really loves you
so you go, and you stand on your own
and you leave on your own
and you go home, and you cry
and you want to die
When you say it’s gonna happen “now”
well, when exactly do you mean?
see I’ve already waited too long
and all my hope is gone
You shut your mouth
how can you say
I go about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
just like everybody else does
I saw him in concert years ago—Friday October 2, 1992 (exactly 7 years before DynaGirl was born!)—at the Huntsman Center at the U of U. It was one of the best concerts ever. He wasn’t putting on a show. You really got the sense that he was just feeling it. And you felt it. Love him.
I’m off for the weekend. Be back Tuesday. Love to all of you!
So Chuck arranged to switch our phone service over to the same company that provides our internet (something about a deal and saving money, blah, blah, blah) and scheduled the dude to come out today. First off, we all know how I feel about the service call. So I spent last night and this morning tidying about the house (yes, it did require two sessions, just shut it!) and then came downstairs a little before noon to hang out all casual like til he came. He was supposed to be here sometime between 12 and 2 pm. (I know—have you ever heard of such a small window of time for a service call appointment?!) I always like to finish up my tidying with plenty of down time left to catch my breath and appear casual. I don’t like people catching me in the act of the tidying or catching me all rosy-cheeked after a good tidying, if you know what I mean. It’s just none of their business if I’ve been tidying. For all they should know, I’m all about the tidy all the time and am not about the quickie tidy for service calls and such.
I decided to try to catch up on one of my DVR’d shows while I waited. I have about 26 hours of dramas to watch, having as of late invested all of my spare TV time to my Buffy DVDs. (I’m on part one of the two part season finale of season 3—the ascension!) I put on an episode of The Closer from a couple weeks back. It was a lovely episode about a serial rapist. I only got about 15 minutes or so into it before the phone dude showed up, so I paused while I got him situated and then came back to it. So as the case unfolded, it turned out these are two-man jobs. One guy works for a delivery company and scopes out potential victims–young, attractive, blonde women who appear to be alone. If he finds one that fits the bill, he leaves a window unlocked and then returns with his partner that night, who is actually the real sicko bad guy rapist. The delivery guy just acts as look out.
It ended up being kind of a complicated story, legally speaking—they can’t bring the real sicko bad guy rapist up on charges because of all this legal mumbo jumbo (something about no physical evidence and not being able to use the testimony of his partner, blah, blah, blah) and he ends up getting away with it. I hate it when they get away with it! So I was sitting there all annoyed when it hit me that I have a service guy in my house right now. And I am young (ish) and attractive (I’m assuming enough for a sicko bad guy rapist, though trust me, that’s not what I’d call a real self-esteem booster) and blonde (hey, they didn’t specify naturally) and I was alone! Well, I had BigHugs with me, but still. So you can bet your sweet bippy that I have made sure that all of my windows are secure, and I’m also kind of wondering if I should be dusting for fingerprints (I’m pretty sure he wasn’t wearing gloves, which, now that I think of it, he probably would have been wearing gloves had he really been scoping out my potential victimness, so that’s kind of reassuring) or trying to make a plaster cast of his footprint in my family room carpet (I did freshly vacuum, so there should be a good imprint. No wait, that’s a lie. I totally didn’t vacuum. Plus also, I think he was wearing plastic booties over his shoes. Wait, plastic booties? That’s a little suspicious, isn’t it? Premeditation? To prevent a good imprint or the leaving behind of any relevant evidence such as dirt that could be traced back to his place of residence and link him to the scene of the crime? He said he didn’t want to get my carpet dirty, but my carpet is so obviously trashed already—a likely story!)
And now I’ve used so many parentheticals that I totally don’t remember where I was going with this except that I would recommend that you not watch a TV show about service people in cahoots with real sicko bad guy rapists whilst hosting a service person in your home. And also, the carpet be darned! Much better to have the service dude leaving a trail of evidence that can later be used to convict his sorry sicko bad guy butt!
No, this is not about Susan M, but it so easily could have been with this post title.
On my way home from dropping the girls off at school, I noticed my right outer thigh had this strange pulsing/throbbing thing going on. It didn’t really feel like a muscle spasm, more like a pulsing thing, you know, like a heartbeat. Only not like a heartbeat because it wasn’t steady, it was like all over the place with a pulse then a throb then like nothing then like multiple pulses in a row. I stared at my thigh (as much as I could while still trying to keep one eye on the road because I was driving) and it stopped. Then I looked up (because of the driving thing) and it started again. I got to a stoplight and tried to look down without moving my head, real subtle like as to not tip my thigh off that I was trying to steal a glance, but it stopped. Then I looked over to my left like I was checking out the cross traffic and quick whipped my head back to my right thigh (the classic fake out!) and my thigh totally fell for it because I saw it moving! Like moving! Like with a weird throbbing/pulsing/and I guess also kind of spasming movement!
That was almost an hour and a half ago, and it’s still doing it! What is that? I was talking to Cheryl about it on the phone and after a little confusion over whether I was talking about my eye or thigh, she told me it was fine and also NOT to google it because then I would just end up thinking I had cancer and was dying or something. So of course I googled it and got some semi-interesting, but not at all helpful results.
I googled “pulsing thigh”, and here is what I got, in order:
Strange pulsing/throbbing in my thigh just just above knee
I have an unusual heavy pulse in my left inner thigh just above my knee for the last couple of days. It isn’t painful, but it is a little …
OK, well, it’s not my inner thigh, it’s my outer thigh, and it’s more halfway up than just above the knee.
Pulsing sensation in the v****** area and the thigh area, is this…
I have had sex 3 times in one day. Later on that n…
Um, yeah, that is not my problem.
Pulsing feeling on bum and back part of upper thighs
I am pretty small up top but heavier on bottom- after I work out I feel a strong like twitching pulsing feeling on my bum and back part of …
Again, wrong area, plus I’m 100% positive this has nothing to do with working out.
Pulsing squat thigh exercise ideal for skiers
The pulsing squat thigh is a good skiing exercise ideal for skiers due to the simulated movement.
This exercise is becoming less and less helpful.
Pulsing hematoma of the thigh as a result of a wound to an
[Pulsing hematoma of the thigh as a result of a wound to an anomalously deep femoral artery]. [Article in Russian].
Hematoma?! Dammit, I don’t read Russian!
What is a pulsating pain in the leg or thigh
what is a pulsating pain in the leg or thigh – posted in Bones, joints and muscles.
It’s not exactly painful, though it is starting to get a little achy.
ABC Homeopathy-Online Homeopathic Remedy Finder Software Tool
extremities, limbs; pain; stitching, sudden, sharp; thigh; with every pulsation. extremities, limbs; pain; stitching, sudden, sharp; foot; sole; pulsating …
Sorry, I totally don’t go for that voodoo stuff. Plus I’m pretty sure they’re just trying to sell me something.
Roasted Stuffed Chicken Thighs with Capers Recipe – Bob Chambers
Pulsing an extra chicken thigh with onion, garlic, parsley and breadcrumbs makes a supereasy stuffing.
Mmmmmm…chicken.
Google fails me again. But seriously, what is that? Should I be concerned?
In the related videos column I noticed this:
There’s nothing like an 80s music video. They just don’t make them like that anymore. After seeing that little gem, I looked up this:
Not quite as fun, but still chock full o’ 80s awesomeness. I had this album on vinyl and I remember Madhousewife and I singing along with gusto.
Who broke my heart?
You did, you did
Bow to the target,
Blame cupid, cupid
You think you’re smart
Stupid, stupid
Shoot that poison arrow through to my heart
Shoot that poison arrow
Sigh. Those were the days.
So I’m downstairs getting the girls ready for school and DynaGirl says, “Did you hear that? What is that?”
Me: What is what?
DynaGirl: That squeak. Didn’t you hear the squeak?
Cue the kind of squeaky, chirpy sound.
Me: Yeah. I don’t know.
One minute la-tare. Squeak/chirp!
DynaGirl: What IS that?
Me: I don’t know.
SQUEAK/CHIRP
DynaGirl: Seriously, what is that?
Me: I don’t know.
DynaGirl: Did you hear that?
Me: Yes, but I. Don’t. Know. What it is, OK?
DynaGirl: It’s annoying.
It was annoying. (It wasn’t the only that was annoying.) I get the girls off to school then took BigHugs to the potty and I hear it again. And again. And then it hits me. It must be a low battery on one of the smoke alarms. It’s happened before, and I’m wondering why it’s taken me so long to connect the dots. So I walk around looking for the offending alarm, but I can’t figure out which one it is. The squeaks/chirps are coming fairly steadily—like maybe once a minute—but every time I’m standing under one, silence. And no blinking light or anything else. Seriously, like 5 minutes of silence. Then as soon as I step back into the hall, SQUEAK/CHIRP! Maybe I was looking at the wrong one. I repeat the process with every smoke alarm I can find. It’s like one of those lameoid shows where everyone keeps barely missing each other, one person constantly showing up just as the other is leaving.
I’m thinking I should just replace all of the batteries instead of wasting my time trying to figure out which one, only I’m pretty sure I don’t even have one replacement battery (Who keeps a stash of 9V? And if you do, just keep it to yourself.) let alone six (or however many smoke alarms there are in this house).
Still with the squeak/chirping. I’m trying to weigh my laziness (going around unhooking all the smoke alarms until Chuck comes home to deal with the battery issue because I have no desire to run errands today) against my squeak/chirping tolerance level. It’s really, really close.
And now for the fun! Cheryl is turning the big 3-0 (still a baby!) this week and is celebrating with a fun giveaway on her blog. Go check it out! Happy birthday week to Cheryl!
When Chuck and I went to the movies last weekend, I noticed our local theater was still playing a couple showings of Twilight. That movie’s been out for like four months. Just release it on DVD already! For the record, I did see it in the theater. We had free passes. And it wasn’t a total waste. It had been a long time since Chuck and I had laughed that hard at a movie plus it really had a decent soundtrack. I think it almost saved the movie—to a certain extent. I strongly recommend the rental. I think it’s worth the buck at the red box.
Here’s a good sampling of the soundtrack:
My favorite track is Full Moon by The Black Ghosts.
When the thorn bush turns white that’s when I’ll come home
I am going out to see what I can sow
And I don’t know where I’ll go
And I don’t know what I’ll see
But I’ll try not to bring it back home with me
Like the morning sun your eyes will follow me
As you watch me wander, curse the powers that be
Cause all I want is here and now but its already been and gone
Our intentions always last that bit too long
Far far away, no voices sounding, no one around me and you’re still there
Far far away, no choices passing, no time confounds me and you’re still there
In the full moons light I listen to the stream
And in between the silence hear you calling me
But I don’t know where I am and I don’t trust who I’ve been
And If I come home how will I ever leave
What do you think?
P.S. I’m putting the wacky search term prizes in the mail this weekend—promise! Sorry for the tardiness!
So last night BigHugs retired early, and after catching up on a couple of shows on the DVR I decided I would just go to bed. It wasn’t even 11 pm yet. As I was walking upstairs I thought, “Good honk! (Good honk is a perfectly legitimate expression. My grandmother used to use it all the time. She could still be using it for all I know. Not in heaven or anything. I mean, she’s still with us, it’s just been a couple of years since I’ve last seen her.) I might actually get like a full 8 hours of sleep tonight!” And then the universe laughed and laughed until it peed a little.
So I went to bed at say 10:45 pm. I tossed and turned for a good 30 minutes or so, waking Chuck who decided that would be the perfect time for a chat. And why not? I was already awake. He told me tales of his Facebook adventures that night—girls that had tracked him down. He was quick to assure me they had not aged well, and even offered to show me their profile pictures as proof. Like I have anything to worry about. I’m obviously all the woman Chuck will ever need. Snort.
Then Chuck says: I caught up on your blog tonight.
Me: Oh yeah?
Chuck: Did you really scrape your armpit with that thing?
Me: Yeah, it hurt!
Chuck: I’m sorry. Do you want me to kiss your armpit?
Me: Um, no thanks. And it’s OK—it gave me something to blog about. I’m trying to figure out how I can hurt myself tomorrow so I’ll have another post.
Chuck: Why does your deoderant cap have those sharp things? Mine just has a smooth disk.
Me: I think it’s because you’re supposed to be able to grab onto it to take it off, but it’s dumb because it never works. You always have to twist up the stick to get the thing off.
Chuck: That’s lame. I think I have a reserve stick in my drawer too. Actually, I think I have three sticks: the one I’m using, a new stick, and that other one I’m allergic to.
Me: Why did you keep the one you’re allergic to? Doesn’t it give you a rash?
Chuck: It’s my reserve, I guess. I’d rather be rashy than stinky.
Me: Can I blog about this?
Chuck: You want to blog about this?
Me: I don’t know.
Then I got all sleepy and turned over. It was around midnight, I think. Then for the next few hours I’d wake up off and on to BigHugs’ coughing. Then around 3 am BigHugs came in and crashed out on our floor. Only every half hour or so she’d wake me up to fix her blankets. And then from 4-5 am she coughed and coughed. And then at 5:20 am she woke up and asked for a drink of water because her hiccups were making her cough and a drink of wadder would make her feel bedduh. So I went to get her a drink of water and Chuck got in the shower and then BigHugs asked if she could climb in bed with me since Daddy was gone and I said why not. Then BigHugs got in bed with me and kept rubbing the inside of my elbow pit. Or the outside of my elbow pit. She wasn’t under my skin, though she may as well have been for how much it was creeping me out and driving me completely nuts. I told her to stop touching me and then turned over. My clock said 5:45 am. I had one more hour until the alarm would go off.
And the rest of the morning is all a blur. Somehow I ended up here. And now I’m really starting to wish I had injured myself in some potentially amusing way so I’d have something actually postworthy. But there it is.
Are you someone who keeps three sticks of anti-perspirant deoderant in various stages of use in your bathroom drawer?
See, when you start getting to the point where you can no longer twist up, you buy a new stick. And then not too long after you can no longer twist up, you’re dangerously close to the dipping below the rim and scraping the crud out of your armpit territory. So just to be safe, you start on the new stick because the scraping is not so nice you see, and even though you’re pretty sure you have a good 5-7 more uses before you get to scrapage you figure why risk it. But you don’t throw the almost to scrapage stick away because it might possibly have those 5-7 applications left (and maybe the 5-7 is really more of an 8-10—you don’t know for sure because you’ve never actually paid attention to how many passes you make under each arm every morning and you’re totally ignorant of the pass to wear-down ratio) and you’re not about the wasting of a perfectly good 5-7 or maybe 8-10 applications left stick of anti-perspirant deoderant plus also who knows when you might be in need of an emergency reserve stick because knowing yourself, you realize there have been times in your past when you’ve moved onto the new stick and worn it down to the scrapage point and beyond because even though you’ve been to Target 17 times in the past three weeks you manage to forget to buy a new stick every time regardless of whether or not it’s been on your shopping list and you’re about two seconds away from scooping out the dregs and rubbing them under your arms with your bare fingers when you realize that somewhere in the back of your drawer there is the reserve stick with 5-7 or maybe even 8-10 additional applications and then out comes the hallelujah chorus because you really don’t enjoy the scooping out of the dregs and the rubbing of them under the arms with the bare fingers thing. (And if I had any idea how to properly punctuate the preceding paragraph, I totally might consider some editing in there.)
Emergency preparedness is a good and wise thing, you see? Only in your bathroom drawer, the sticks look like this:
And you’re constantly forgetting which is which. Is the brand new stick staying on your skin and not on your clothes? Is the emergency reserve stick stickerless? Or does it have 6 ultimate benefits? Which is the stick you’re currently using again? What are those 6 ultimate benefits about anyways?
Does anyone buy deoderant that says “like maybe half a day of wetness and odor protection”? Why hasn’t Dove moved up to 1/2 moisturizers? They’ve been doing this 1/4 thing for years. Who doesn’t want more moisturizing? And wait a minute, beautiful frangrances?
Um, hello, are they trying to pull some kind of fast one here? I’m buying the sensitive skin frangrance free for a reason, I think. It’s all so confusing.
Speaking of confusing, so all of your sticks look basically the same, right? And sometimes you just grab any old stick, absent-mindedly rip off the lid and get down to business. Totally no big deal if you grab the currently using stick or even the emergency reserve stick, as long as you haven’t accidentally grabbed the reserve stick more than 5-7 or 8-10 times. But trust me, you do not want to find yourself on the business end of the brand-new, never before used, sealed for your protection stick.
Not a pleasant surprise, by which I mean “Good frick, that smarts!” I can hardly believe there’s not blood or some other DNA evidence dripping from the protruding plastic pokers of pain! Ouch! And frick! And also FRICK!
So let that be a lesson to you, my friends—a little note to self, if you will. Always, always, always remove the devil’s protection cap of pain from your anti-perspirant deoderant before chucking it into your drawer with your currently using and emergency reserve sticks. Frick!
(I considered photographing the crime scene, but it’s been over 24 hours since I’ve done any grooming in the pittal area, and I’m just not sure I’m ready to take that step in our relationship.)
Chuck and I decided to celebrate the official day of love last Friday to try to avoid the crowds. We went to dinner at one of our favorite Chinese restaurants and then to a movie. (I know, we live life on the edge. The edge.) I always enjoy reading the placemats with the Chinese Zodiac signs. Have you seen these?
I’m an ox and Chuck’s a cock—um, let’s just call him a rooster. These are the descriptions:
OX: 1937, 1949, 1961, 1973, 1985, 1997, 2009
Bright, patient, and inspiring to others. You can be happy by yourself, yet make an outstanding parent. Marry a Snake or Cock. The Sheep will bring trouble.
COCK: 1933, 1945, 1957, 1969, 1981, 1993, 2005
A pioneer in spirit, you are devoted to work and quest after knowledge. You are selfish and eccentric. Rabbits are trouble. Snakes and Oxen are fine.
We are obviously destined for marital bliss as the placemat clearly states our signs align for perfect compatibility. (Yes, obviously “marry a cock” and “oxen are fine”=perfect compatibility.) Chuck wanted to know how come my description said only good things, while his threw in “selfish and eccentric”. You can’t argue with the stars, man. That’s just the way it is. Don’t question the universe.
At the end of the meal we got our customary fortune cookies. My fortune said, “You will travel to many exotic places in the next few years.” We’re planning a trip to Hawaii this summer. How did they know? How? I will never again doubt the power of the all-knowing fortune cookie. I asked Chuck about his fortune. He pulled it out of his cookie and read, “You will marry a smokin’ hot blonde chick.” I laughed, and then thought, “Will? Hey, wait a minute!”
So there we were basking in the afterglow of our singing chicken and sweet and sour shrimp, our stars all aligned ensuring our eternal happiness with promises of exotic vacations, and then we got the check.
I hadn’t realized what day we had picked to celebrate our love! And the bill #! If ever there was a bad omen. Evil everywhere! I left the restaurant with a strong sense of our impending doom. We went to the movies, and I hoped seeing Mr. Neeson all action-heroey on the big screen would ease my troubled soul. As we walked into the theater lobby there was a big crowd gathered, and then I caught a glimpse of this out of the corner of my eye:
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
Anyone else know there is yet another incarnation of Friday the 13th? Why? Why?! Hasn’t that one been done like to death?
We did actually make it home alive, the rest of our evening being pretty uneventful. But I was just waiting for those bad omens to manifest themselves in some kind of catastrophe of horrific proportions. Saturday was a pretty good day, and by Saturday evening I was beginning to feel like maybe the threat had passed. We decided to take the kids out to dinner that night at the Red Robin. As I was slurping up the last of my strawberry shake at the end of a perfectly lovely meal, I happened to glance over at Goose. She was three different shades of green. We somehow managed to make it into the bathroom stall in time for her to spend the next ten minutes puking her guts out. Mac and cheese, melon and almost two full cups of chocolate milk. Fantastic. She had excellent aim with the toilet, but the second heave was of such a magnitude as to splash off the surface of the public restroom toilet water and hit the back of the stall wall. Super fantastic. There is not enough hand sanitizer in the world to feel fully recovered from cleaning vomitous public restroom toilet water off public restroom stall wall with public restroom one-ply toilet paper. Shudder. Shudder. Shudder.
How was your Valentine’s day?
P.S. Oh, and here’s a link to the other Chinese zodiac descriptions, in case you’re interested.
So I was talking to Alison Wonderland this weekend about all of these lame memes that have been making their way around Facebook. Specifically, the lame “Yes or No” meme.
Exhibit A:
Yes or No Share
1. You can ONLY answer Yes or No!
2. You are NOT ALLOWED to explain ANYTHING unless someone messages or comments you and asks!Now, here’s what you’re supposed to do… And please do not spoil the Fun. Copy and paste this into your notes , delete my answers, type in your answers and tag as many of your friends as you’d like to. Then see what happens.
Kissed anyone one of your facebook friends? yes
Been arrested? no
Kissed someone you didn’t like? no
Slept in until 5 PM? yes
Fallen asleep at work/school? yes
Held a turantula? no
Wished you were someone else? yes
Ran a red light? yes
Been suspended from school? no
Been expelled from school? no
Smoked in a bathroom? no
Totalled your car/motorbike in an accident? no
Been fired from a job? no
Sang karaoke? yes
Done something you told yourself you wouldn’t? yes
Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? yes
Caught a snowflake on your tongue? yes
Kissed in the rain? yes
Sang in the shower? yes
Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes? no
Broken a bone? yes
Shaved your head? no
Blacked out from drinking? no
Felt like killing someone? yes
Made your girlfriend/boyfriend cry? yes
Had Mexican jumping beans for pets? no
Been in a band? no
Shot a gun? no
Donated blood? no
Eaten Kangaroo meat? no
Eaten cheesecake? yes
Still love someone you shouldn’t? no
Think about the future? yes
Believe in love? yes
Sleep on a certain side of the bed? yes
Think this is stupid? yes
I finished mine off with, “Who comes up with these lists? I’m sure we could think of more interesting questions…”
And then Alison said, “Yeah, aren’t these supposed to be provocative and intriguing so that we wonder why you answered the way you did? I gotta say, I don’t wonder at all. We should come up with one of our own!”
And then Madhousewife said, “Well, I’m a little curious about how you made someone cry. Unless it was Chuck, in which case I don’t want to know. 
“
And I said, “Oh I made all the boys cry.” and “I agree, Alison. Get on that, will you?”
And then Alison said, “I’m on it.”
And then some guy I used to date said, “Bythelbs made me cry!”
And then I said, “Good, now I can check you off my list!”
And then he said, “Wow! You have a list of people you want to make cry!”
And then I said, “Yeah, a list of one!”
But I digress.
That Alison is a woman of her word.
She’s already got a decent start on the new and improved, latest and greatest, hopefully-not-quite-so-annoying and pointlessly lameoid Facebook meme, but I’m going to enlist your help over here as well. They’ve got a lot of open-ended questions over there, but I have to tell you, I kind of like the Yes or No thing. I like being left to go “Hmmm…”. I want to want more of the story. I want a certain degree of ambiguity so I can interpret the answers to my greatest amusement. So I’m going to ask for the Yes or No kind of questions that start with “Have you ever…”
Here are just a few to get you going:
Have you ever…
had a secret admirer?
been a secret admirer?
secretly wished you had a secret admirer who wasn’t so very good at keeping secrets?
had someone tell your secret after they promised not to?
told someone else’s secret after you promised not to?
rationalized away the telling of a secret because you didn’t receive explicit instructions to keep the information secret even though it was almost certainly an implied secret?
assumed and then made an a$$ out of you and me?
written an angry letter that you never sent?
written an angry letter that you never planned to send, but then a “friend” decided to send it for you even though they knew you had no such intention to do so yourself?
pretended to not be home when someone you knew was at the door?
pretended to not be home when the someone you knew who was at the door was a member of your family and was just locked out?
ever cut your toenails and then shoved the clippings under the couch?
ever cut your toenails and then shoved the clippings under the couch and then spent the next 15 years denying it whenever your spouse brought it up?
drunk the juice from the pickle jar?
drunk the juice from the pickle jar through a straw?
And then here’s a couple just to separate out the freaks:
knowingly and/or willingly eaten a raisin?
knowingly and/or willingly eaten a raisin and enjoyed it?
So come on now, help some sisters out. What does your inquiring mind want to know?
P.S. Obviously, none of these come from personal experience. Just throwing random stuff out there.
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