In which I throw you a rambling, senseless bone

I am in a pickle. I love that saying "in a pickle," because it makes absolutely no sense. How can you be in a pickle? You'd have to get all meta-physical and start talking about how our atoms really exist in multiple places at once and then we'd have to talk about parallel universes again, and before you know it, you're scraping your brains off the wall.

Anyways, in a pickle I am. Because I have run out of toilet paper. I don't really know how it happened, but I came home this evening and went to the bathroom and used the last of it. The very last of it. No tissues or paper towels. Not even any coffee filters. Suddenly I am living like a GUY. (Once my friend A and I went over to these guys' house. They had two bathrooms. And no toilet paper in either one. No tissues. No paper towels. NO APOLOGIES. Gross.)

This did not happen because I can't afford to buy toilet paper (although that might have been a possibility a few weeks ago). I actually forgot to get some on the way home from work is all. Oooh, I need toothpaste, too.

I realize that I am just being stubborn by not going out to get any tonight, but I won't, because of those five flights of stairs I have to walk up. FIVE. I already walked up them once today. I'm not doing it again. Listen, if you had to walk up all those effing stairs, you would weigh your options, too. When I run errands on the weekends, I try to do everything that needs to be done before going back home, usually laden with grocery and drugstore bags. By the time I get to my door, I'm sweating and panting, but at least I got it all up to the top.

My one big treat that I occasionally indulge in is having my laundry picked up and dropped off. Man, I love that! They come up and get it, then they bring it all back, up all those stairs, and it is CLEAN and FOLDED. Keep your speed boats and Cristal. That, my friends, is the definition of luxury.

Ok, I just located a paper napkin and am checking my purse for kleenex. I'll let you know how it goes.

Keeping my fingers crossed to make it till morning!

In which I give you too much information

I want you to know that I thought about this before I posted it.  It is incredibly embarrassing and a little gross, but ultimately I feel like it is too funny to pass up.  So I offer up myself and my flaws to you so that you may laugh.  

You're very welcome.  

I sold my couch finally on Sunday to a woman named Nancy.  When Nancy saw the couch in person for the first time, she proclaimed her undying love for its scarlet beauty.  She told me that she was buying it for her office and that the girls* she worked with loved the photo and that they would be excited to have a couch to sit on.  I have to say, it is oddly comforting to know that someone who is buying something that belonged to you loves it as much as you did.   Anyhoo, buy it she did and she and the guy she brought to help her carried the couch out my front door and down to their truck.   About 10 minutes after they left she called me to ask if she could come back up and use my bathroom.  Of course I said she could - far be it for me to withhold the ability to use a bathroom from someone else.  That's just mean.

I showed her where the bathroom was, she used it, politely said thanks and then left.   A little bit later I had to go, too, so I went into the bathroom.  That is when I discovered what I had done:

Yeah.  Pretty damn embarrassing.  Feel free to laugh, though.  Ok, that's enough.  I SAID, THAT'S ENOUGH.  Ok, fine.  I'll wait.

Finished?  Good.

Do you suppose Nancy and her girls* are laughing about this?  I have to admit, I would be if I were them.  I'd be calling me the "hemorrhoid girl" or the couch the "hemorrhoid couch".  Maybe the "H.C." for short.  I'd sit on it and then pretend my behind itched and then run away screaming "HEMORRHOID COUCH!! HEMORRHOID COUCH!!" or something equally ridiculous.  Of course, I do have a weird sense of humor.  And a bit of a wicked streak, too.  

I guess I can bear the embarrassment, though.  My hemorrhoids and I just deposited a nice chunk of cash money, courtesy of Nancy and her girls.*

* Do you suppose that Nancy runs an, er, escort service or something?  Just who are these girls?

In which blughucky. Ugh. Part II

OH.  CRAP.  Where did you go, icky creepy spider?   Where are you?  

I have to confess a sense of disappointment because I had big plans for the two of us.  I was going to name you Leopold and blog about you and we were going to be such friends.  Why did you have to let me down so?

Hmm. 

(shudder)

Dear Leopold,

Please don't be in my bed.

Love,

Liz

In which blughucky. Ugh.

Don't get too comfortable, icky creepy spider.  You have a date with destiny.