Today, I want to shake things up a bit. And this time, I've decided to try the classic "write a letter" approach. Well, my friends, it seems as though I have several letters to write...
To the man in the burgundy Mercedes in front of me this morning,
QUIT PUSSYFOOTING AROUND AND JUST MERGE ALREADY! If you're going to cut me off, you need to just do it. This bullshit floaty dance you're doing with your car where you jerk the wheel into my lane and then back into yours (even though I've clearly stopped to let you go) is just pissing me off. You have a nice-ish car. Learn how to drive it.
While I'm thinking of it, you might want to talk to your douche bag buddy in the green CR-V. It seems he has no concept of merging either. Continuing to drive next to me when your lane ended 500 feet ago is a good way to make me start thinking that real life bumper cars aren't such a bad idea. Too bad I like my car too much. Consider yourselves lucky.
Dia.
To the warm cozy bed I had to leave far too early,
I love you more than you know. I'll be home soon. ;-) Be prepared to snuggle. And to be mobbed by the animals, who seem to love you as much as I do.
Love,
Me
To the girl walking down the street in the minidress,
Um, it's 20 degrees and windy outside. What the hell is wrong with you? Are you that desperate for attention that you are willing to freeze to death? You have nice legs, great, we get it. Now go put some pants on. I don't know if you know this, but pants can also make your legs look nice. They're called skinny jeans. Find some. Besides, then your butt won't look so lumpy. I don't like feeling like I should put more clothes on to make up for your lack thereof. So stop it.
Dia.
To the gremlin who lives in my TV,
I'd really appreciate if you could stop randomly turning off the TV at the most inopportune moments. I mean, really bro, knock that shit off. I know you may think it's all fun and games, but you really are starting to stress me out. I don't handle suspense well. And thanks to you, I don't know the DNA results from the hair found on the Monsterquest expedition. (Narrator: "The Monsterquest team has just received the DNA results from the suspected Big Foot hair it found while doing it's field search. And the results came back..." Beep BoopBoopBoop. TV off. Great.) Listen, man, if Big Foot exists, I NEED TO KNOW!
You're pushing me into an awkward situation my small friend. I like to like my TV. We're cool. It helps me relax. But not knowing the answer to the final Jeopardy question because you think the TV needs a nap is really starting to bug me. I don't like making threats, but you've left me no choice. Watch it, kid, or I'll be forced to evict you.
Really, though, we should just be friends. It would be way cheaper.
Love,
Me.
To my squealing shower head,
WTF. Why do you do this to me? You know very well that I have enough trouble getting up in the morning, so why are you trying to make the experience worse? I know that you don't always squeal like a dying pig, so why only do it when I try to make the water hot? Are you trying to make me miserable? I think you are.
I hate you. This means war.
Hatefully yours,
Me.
To the random animal that has made itself at home in my wall,
Please don't die. If you're going to die, go do it outside. I can handle the fact that you want to live in there, but please refrain from decomposing and stinking up my place. It would be much appreciated.
Also, could you save your creepy scratching sounds for a time when I'm not trying to sleep? I think you must have peep holes, because you always manage to start rummaging in there right as I'm drifting off. And it freaks me out. And confuses the dog. And makes the cat want to hunt you. And you know she'll want you dead, which I've already asked you not to do inside.
Really, I think it's in your best interest to relocate. But that's just me. Suit yourself. Just remember, no dying in the house.
Love,
Dia.
To the TV Pilates instructor,
We need to get something straight here. "Balance and grace" are both things that I lack. So when you tell me to move positions with balance and grace, you must realize that I will be doing a lot of shaking and falling instead.
As long as you're cool with a sometimes student who is a little bit spastic, the we're good.
Me.
P.S. It might just be me, but Swan makes me feel like I'm humping the floor or something. There's got to be a better way. Also, Seal makes me feel special. And not in a good way.
To PsychoDog,
Could you not try to eat my feet while I'm trying to follow along with the Pilates lesson? Cause I think that might be just a little bit helpful to my cause.
K, thanks. We'll go for a walk later.
Wuve you,
Me.
To running,
You're pointless, and I hate you. You make my lungs hurt when it's cold out and I spend the next three days coughing like I have the plague. Why everyone raves about you is beyond me.
I think we have a date later today.
Love,
Me.
To Route One,
You are the bane of my existence. That is all.
Ugh,
Me.
Showing posts with label bathroom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bathroom. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Spanish lessons in the drunk
As time goes on, I've realized that what they say is true. Enjoy your younger years while you can because it just goes downhill from there. Not that my life is going downhill, per say, but it is definitely more serious and less fun than it used to be. Aside from spending my days in a beige box*, I find myself worrying a lot more about money and bills and finding food to cook. My point is, I miss the good ol' days. I long for the 'lax feel of college and the parties, and the routine carelessness of high school. I miss being in a house that I didn't have to pay for and wearing clothes that magically appeared**. I crave the food that was there when I was hungry, whether at home or in the cafeteria (SLUSHIES!). So, in my infinite spare time at work (haha, yea ok. More like the time I spend daydreaming and wishing I was somewhere else), I've been taking a drive down memory lane. And I dredged up this gem...
In high school, I practically LIVED at JD's house. We would spend days together eating Chinese food, watching (awful) movies, and lounging on the ginormous bed in her room. Since where we live is kind of boring, one weekend we decided it would be a good idea to drink. Now, this was waaaay before I got to college and learned to hold my liquor like a champ. So I may or may not have been a little tipsy. Or shithoused. Whichever term you prefer. Anyway, after going through a good maybe half a bottle of something mixed with iced tea (I only remember that because it was hard to drink tea for a little while after that), I was pretty woozy. Yes, woozy. That's the right word.
Honestly, I have no real memory of what happened in the gap between drinking and what came next. JD could have shit her pants and I wouldn't have been able to tell you about it. But I do remember suddenly being in the bathroom with my face on the floor and my butt wedged up against her towel warming rack. Which was on. On high. With no towels on it. So I start yelling her name. Or at least that's what I thought it sounded like, but who knows. And then I stared at the heater. Intently. Reading the caution label. God only knows why. But by the time she made it into the bathroom, I was yelling at her in Spanish:
JD: Hey, are you ok?!
Me: Cuidado! (with frantic waving arms)
JD: What?
Me: CUIDADO!! Caliente!
JD: Um...
My babbling continued until I had successfully (or not) conveyed to her (in Spanish) the cautions on the heater warning label. And then I told her I thought the warm was going to make me barf. At which point she smiled at me like I was a crazy person, patted me on the head, and walked away.
Yessss.
*true, my cubicle is a sizable one and is really more a rectangle, but still. It's a box. rown and poorly lit by fluorescent lights that hurt my eyes. And there are no windows. It's just so...bleak and stifling.
**Also known as hand-me-downs.
In high school, I practically LIVED at JD's house. We would spend days together eating Chinese food, watching (awful) movies, and lounging on the ginormous bed in her room. Since where we live is kind of boring, one weekend we decided it would be a good idea to drink. Now, this was waaaay before I got to college and learned to hold my liquor like a champ. So I may or may not have been a little tipsy. Or shithoused. Whichever term you prefer. Anyway, after going through a good maybe half a bottle of something mixed with iced tea (I only remember that because it was hard to drink tea for a little while after that), I was pretty woozy. Yes, woozy. That's the right word.
Honestly, I have no real memory of what happened in the gap between drinking and what came next. JD could have shit her pants and I wouldn't have been able to tell you about it. But I do remember suddenly being in the bathroom with my face on the floor and my butt wedged up against her towel warming rack. Which was on. On high. With no towels on it. So I start yelling her name. Or at least that's what I thought it sounded like, but who knows. And then I stared at the heater. Intently. Reading the caution label. God only knows why. But by the time she made it into the bathroom, I was yelling at her in Spanish:
JD: Hey, are you ok?!
Me: Cuidado! (with frantic waving arms)
JD: What?
Me: CUIDADO!! Caliente!
JD: Um...
My babbling continued until I had successfully (or not) conveyed to her (in Spanish) the cautions on the heater warning label. And then I told her I thought the warm was going to make me barf. At which point she smiled at me like I was a crazy person, patted me on the head, and walked away.
Yessss.
*true, my cubicle is a sizable one and is really more a rectangle, but still. It's a box. rown and poorly lit by fluorescent lights that hurt my eyes. And there are no windows. It's just so...bleak and stifling.
**Also known as hand-me-downs.
Monday, January 24, 2011
the magic moment
Despite what my sex and body issues may lead you to believe, I am quite comfortable talking about poop. Actually, disturbingly so. Credit for creating the poo gossiping monster that I am goes to my high school soccer team, who used to hold discussions about poop on our bus rides to games. No joke. However, there is a greater person who has to be recognized. All of you who enjoy the rest of this post must hail JD, who helped me discover and term "the magic moment."
For all you normal people out there, the magic moment is when you suddenly know you have to poop and you have to go right then. It is not to be confused with that ambiguous moment when guys "know" they have to poop and then spend the next twenty minutes waiting for it to come. No, no. The magic moment is a moment of enlightenment that comes a shade or two before the ol' "turtle head" and is a moment of peace and joy. You think "Oh. I have to poo" and you go. Bing Bang BOOM. Done. It's great. The magic moment is wonderful in itself, but also opens doors to what we like to call "speed pooing," which saves time and energy. But I digress.
Anyway, so the other morning (I'm going to go with Friday) I was up earlier than usual* and went about my morning stumble around the apartment before I get into the shower. This is generally the time when I think about things like brushing my hair (helps keep away shower knots..those little bitches), finding underwear for the day, and doing my business before I shower. With the first two items done, I wander into the bathroom to pee, but I don't really have to go so I hop in the shower. About fifteen minutes into my shower ** I'm just finishing shaving leg number one when I feel my lower stomach region lurch and drop. Hmm. I keep shaving and move on to leg number two. Then it hits me. The Magic Moment. Only this time it's not so magic because I'm in the shower. Shaving. And it's cold out there. Which means prickly legs. Oh, hell no.
With butt cheeks resolutely clenched, I continue toward underarm shaving. But the turtle wants to come out. NOW. With a sad look, I rub my soft, smooth legs and sigh. Defeated and shamed, I step out of the still running shower and do the cold, waterlogged waddle to the toilet. I plop my soaking wet self on the pooper. Insert prickly legs. Cue ridiculous sliding around the toilet seat because I'm all wet. Awesome. Pan to my dog looking curiously at me through the bathroom door, debating whether she should come in to lick the water dripping off me. I give her a death glare, flush, and fling myself back into the steamy goodness that is the shower. And start shaving all over again. Needless to say I was late for work.
Yep, that's my life.
*Getting up early classically makes my stomach do strange things. Like growl. And hurt. For no reason. Jerk.
**Yes, I do really take that long. Usually about 20-30 minutes. I'm a water waster, what can I say.
For all you normal people out there, the magic moment is when you suddenly know you have to poop and you have to go right then. It is not to be confused with that ambiguous moment when guys "know" they have to poop and then spend the next twenty minutes waiting for it to come. No, no. The magic moment is a moment of enlightenment that comes a shade or two before the ol' "turtle head" and is a moment of peace and joy. You think "Oh. I have to poo" and you go. Bing Bang BOOM. Done. It's great. The magic moment is wonderful in itself, but also opens doors to what we like to call "speed pooing," which saves time and energy. But I digress.
Anyway, so the other morning (I'm going to go with Friday) I was up earlier than usual* and went about my morning stumble around the apartment before I get into the shower. This is generally the time when I think about things like brushing my hair (helps keep away shower knots..those little bitches), finding underwear for the day, and doing my business before I shower. With the first two items done, I wander into the bathroom to pee, but I don't really have to go so I hop in the shower. About fifteen minutes into my shower ** I'm just finishing shaving leg number one when I feel my lower stomach region lurch and drop. Hmm. I keep shaving and move on to leg number two. Then it hits me. The Magic Moment. Only this time it's not so magic because I'm in the shower. Shaving. And it's cold out there. Which means prickly legs. Oh, hell no.
With butt cheeks resolutely clenched, I continue toward underarm shaving. But the turtle wants to come out. NOW. With a sad look, I rub my soft, smooth legs and sigh. Defeated and shamed, I step out of the still running shower and do the cold, waterlogged waddle to the toilet. I plop my soaking wet self on the pooper. Insert prickly legs. Cue ridiculous sliding around the toilet seat because I'm all wet. Awesome. Pan to my dog looking curiously at me through the bathroom door, debating whether she should come in to lick the water dripping off me. I give her a death glare, flush, and fling myself back into the steamy goodness that is the shower. And start shaving all over again. Needless to say I was late for work.
Yep, that's my life.
*Getting up early classically makes my stomach do strange things. Like growl. And hurt. For no reason. Jerk.
**Yes, I do really take that long. Usually about 20-30 minutes. I'm a water waster, what can I say.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
so uh....
So yea, I have a funny little story for you today, courtesy of my lame apartment complex. Allow me to explain.
This morning when my phone alarm clock went off at 6:35 I hit snooze and refused to get up (which isn't unusual). It went off again, over and over until about 6:55 when I finally decided I should probably wake up and make the effort to shower. But I'm starting to think someone, somewhere likes me dirty. Because right as I lifted my head and did the cliche stretch and blink (still in bed because my apartment is freezing), I heard a little click and the power went out. All of my clocks went blank and the heater turned off. Why the hell did this happen? I have no idea, especially since no one has anything turned on yet at such an ungodly hour. But my apartment complex is lame and the power tends to flick on and off at times. I swear I don't live in a ghetto, but something is seriously up with the electrical. Frequently I picture a little mouse behind my walls chewing away at the wires or something. Or I picture the retarded electrical sparking a fire and burning down all of my earthly possessions. Because I'm cheery like that. But I digress.
Anyway, since I'm used to having the power flick back on, I figure I'll stay in bed and wait it out since there's no use taking a shower if I can't dry my hair (since it's maybe 10 degrees outside) and there's no use getting out of warm bed to wander around my cold apartment when the heater is off. So I wait. And nap. And wait. Nothing happens. 7:30 finally rolls around and my apartment is still dark, cold, and powerless, but I don't want to be late for work. So I get up and stumble around in the dark to find clothes, throw my hair in a ponytail (with cute braided hairband Blondie gave me for Christmas!) and give my best attempt at putting on some makeup blind. Cool. I'm set, even if i do feel like a scummer for not washing my hair for the second day in a row.*
Fast forward to ten minutes ago when I had to pee from drinking three cups of hot cocoa. Cue me finishing up and looking down. Insert chagrined face as I realize I am not a vampire, I cannot see in the dark, and my underwear is inside out. Awesome. I love my life.
*Usually I'm a nazi about taking showers etc. I like being clean. However coming back from break does things to a person. Yesterday my desire to sleep longer outweighed my desire to wash my hair. Don't get me wrong, I showered. But there was no hair washing involved thanks to my handy dandy shower cap. and my hair still looked perfect from the day before because God is amazing and created the CHI straightener. Which he then gave me for Christmas because it solves all hair evils. Or maybe it was from GMK (my brother, dear readers). Who knows.
This morning when my phone alarm clock went off at 6:35 I hit snooze and refused to get up (which isn't unusual). It went off again, over and over until about 6:55 when I finally decided I should probably wake up and make the effort to shower. But I'm starting to think someone, somewhere likes me dirty. Because right as I lifted my head and did the cliche stretch and blink (still in bed because my apartment is freezing), I heard a little click and the power went out. All of my clocks went blank and the heater turned off. Why the hell did this happen? I have no idea, especially since no one has anything turned on yet at such an ungodly hour. But my apartment complex is lame and the power tends to flick on and off at times. I swear I don't live in a ghetto, but something is seriously up with the electrical. Frequently I picture a little mouse behind my walls chewing away at the wires or something. Or I picture the retarded electrical sparking a fire and burning down all of my earthly possessions. Because I'm cheery like that. But I digress.
Anyway, since I'm used to having the power flick back on, I figure I'll stay in bed and wait it out since there's no use taking a shower if I can't dry my hair (since it's maybe 10 degrees outside) and there's no use getting out of warm bed to wander around my cold apartment when the heater is off. So I wait. And nap. And wait. Nothing happens. 7:30 finally rolls around and my apartment is still dark, cold, and powerless, but I don't want to be late for work. So I get up and stumble around in the dark to find clothes, throw my hair in a ponytail (with cute braided hairband Blondie gave me for Christmas!) and give my best attempt at putting on some makeup blind. Cool. I'm set, even if i do feel like a scummer for not washing my hair for the second day in a row.*
Fast forward to ten minutes ago when I had to pee from drinking three cups of hot cocoa. Cue me finishing up and looking down. Insert chagrined face as I realize I am not a vampire, I cannot see in the dark, and my underwear is inside out. Awesome. I love my life.
*Usually I'm a nazi about taking showers etc. I like being clean. However coming back from break does things to a person. Yesterday my desire to sleep longer outweighed my desire to wash my hair. Don't get me wrong, I showered. But there was no hair washing involved thanks to my handy dandy shower cap. and my hair still looked perfect from the day before because God is amazing and created the CHI straightener. Which he then gave me for Christmas because it solves all hair evils. Or maybe it was from GMK (my brother, dear readers). Who knows.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
three more reasons why the bathroom is the bane of my existence
Yea, I know. But it has to be said. Before I go insane and start laughing hysterically while I'm in there. Because that would probably just make things worse.
1) Other people. Stop following me into the bathroom! Stop it. Please. I cannot go with you in there, and it's awkward for me to hold the door open for you when we both know that one of us probably has to shit. It's even worse when that person is me. Because I can't do that with other people around. So I wash my hands and leave. Which leaves me with two problems: I still have to go, and now I look like a weirdo for coming to the bathroom to wash my hands when I could have used the office kitchen. That's a double whammy.*
2)The toilet paper dispensers. They. are. the devil. Either there is too much paper shoved in them so it won't spin and you have to pull off one piece at a time or there is no paper at all, leaving you stranded. If you are lucky enough to find the happy medium roll, you spend so much time fumbling around trying to find the end sheet while the dispenser squeaks mercilessly that it sounds like you're having a seizure. It's just a lose-lose situation.
3) Automatic flush toilets. Why? Who thought this was a good idea? They supposedly have sensors to tell them when it's ok to flip the switch, but it never works. They ALWAYS flush while you're still sitting there. So you always end up racing them. Trying to finish first. Before they flush and send a gust of air and splash of cold water straight into your crotchel region. ** While this may be what the inventors of the bidet were going for, in practice this is much less refreshing than it sounds.
Maybe public restrooms are just a bad idea in general. Then again, maybe having to go to the bathroom is just a bad idea. Solution: we should all be vampires. Shazam! Problem solved.
*For the love of God, I hope someone gets this reference. Mitch Hedberg.
**On a side note, it's always a little scary when the toilet flushes with you on it. Aside from the gross factor, I can't help but be a little afraid it'll suck me down too. Or that an alligator will crawl up in place of water.
UPDATE: I lied. I have a number four for you. Courtesy of a convo with Iz.
4) How there is never anything to dry your hands with. The paper towels are always gone. So you're forced to turn to the hulking wind machine on the wall. Which is a bad idea. Those blow drier things never work. And once they're on, you feel like you're eighty and can't hear anything. While you're thinking about the permanent damage being done to your hearing, you look down and see that you suddenly have mutant hands because the stupid drier is blowing your skin in all kinds of shapes and directions. Do you really have to put that much power into a bathroom blow drier? It doesn't dry anything anyway. So you give up and wipe your hands on your back pockets. And walk around with wet hand prints on your ass for a while. Yessssssss.
1) Other people. Stop following me into the bathroom! Stop it. Please. I cannot go with you in there, and it's awkward for me to hold the door open for you when we both know that one of us probably has to shit. It's even worse when that person is me. Because I can't do that with other people around. So I wash my hands and leave. Which leaves me with two problems: I still have to go, and now I look like a weirdo for coming to the bathroom to wash my hands when I could have used the office kitchen. That's a double whammy.*
2)The toilet paper dispensers. They. are. the devil. Either there is too much paper shoved in them so it won't spin and you have to pull off one piece at a time or there is no paper at all, leaving you stranded. If you are lucky enough to find the happy medium roll, you spend so much time fumbling around trying to find the end sheet while the dispenser squeaks mercilessly that it sounds like you're having a seizure. It's just a lose-lose situation.
3) Automatic flush toilets. Why? Who thought this was a good idea? They supposedly have sensors to tell them when it's ok to flip the switch, but it never works. They ALWAYS flush while you're still sitting there. So you always end up racing them. Trying to finish first. Before they flush and send a gust of air and splash of cold water straight into your crotchel region. ** While this may be what the inventors of the bidet were going for, in practice this is much less refreshing than it sounds.
Maybe public restrooms are just a bad idea in general. Then again, maybe having to go to the bathroom is just a bad idea. Solution: we should all be vampires. Shazam! Problem solved.
*For the love of God, I hope someone gets this reference. Mitch Hedberg.
**On a side note, it's always a little scary when the toilet flushes with you on it. Aside from the gross factor, I can't help but be a little afraid it'll suck me down too. Or that an alligator will crawl up in place of water.
UPDATE: I lied. I have a number four for you. Courtesy of a convo with Iz.
4) How there is never anything to dry your hands with. The paper towels are always gone. So you're forced to turn to the hulking wind machine on the wall. Which is a bad idea. Those blow drier things never work. And once they're on, you feel like you're eighty and can't hear anything. While you're thinking about the permanent damage being done to your hearing, you look down and see that you suddenly have mutant hands because the stupid drier is blowing your skin in all kinds of shapes and directions. Do you really have to put that much power into a bathroom blow drier? It doesn't dry anything anyway. So you give up and wipe your hands on your back pockets. And walk around with wet hand prints on your ass for a while. Yessssssss.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Bathroom Phenomena
I honestly had no intention of posting again so soon, but after my little adventure in the land of bathroom etiquette just now, I had to sit down and get this out (no pun intended, really).
You may have noticed -actually you should have noticed, and if you haven't this is directed at you- that there are certain unspoken rules when it comes to using public restrooms. For instance, in the chick world, there are some cardinal bathroom practices:
- Always help out another girl who is stranded without toilet paper. You know it could be you next time.
- Do your best to avoid lurking near the cracks between stall doors lest someone think you're trying to spy on them.
- Wait calmly in line( unless you're lucky enough to find a deserted ladies' room).
Of course, rule numero uno for any bathroom is that you DO NOT use the stall next to someone when there are other open stalls. You just don't. It's creepy. You're too close to me, and when I can hear every move you make -when I can hear you breathing- I know that you can hear me too and it just ruins my bathroom experience.
So, why do people at my office insist on choosing the stall next to mine when the bathroom isn't crowded? Why would they even want to? How could they possibly not fathom how awkward the situation is? I can not only hear you trying to hold your breath, but the sound of you peeing is so loud that you might as well be on my lap. Uncomfortable and unnecessary. Please, there are three other open stalls in the bathroom (four if you count the one with the door that gets stuck closed). Pick one of them. I strategically placed myself in this stall so you have the optimum number of other-stall options. MOVE OVER.
Also, how is it that everyone chooses to use the bathroom at the same time? I'm honestly vexed by this question. For the past month, I've noticed that at certain times when I walk into the bathroom ALL of the stalls are taken (except for one). This presents a horrible situation. I obviously have to pee, but I want to leave because the bathroom is packed. I'm trapped, however, by that one open stall. I have to use it. Which then makes me that person who sits in the stall next to you. But I can't avoid it because all of the other stalls are taken. Thus I'm trapped in a warped vortex of bathroom manners that pulls me in all directions. Have to pee - must stay. Too many people in here - must go. But there's an open stall - must STAYYY. But I don't want to sit next to someone - must GOOOO. All in all I generally end up agitated and dash into the empty stall, holding my breath so the person next to me doesn't hear me and trying to get out of there as quickly as possible. If you tell me this hasn't happened to you at least once, you're lying.
You may have noticed -actually you should have noticed, and if you haven't this is directed at you- that there are certain unspoken rules when it comes to using public restrooms. For instance, in the chick world, there are some cardinal bathroom practices:
- Always help out another girl who is stranded without toilet paper. You know it could be you next time.
- Do your best to avoid lurking near the cracks between stall doors lest someone think you're trying to spy on them.
- Wait calmly in line( unless you're lucky enough to find a deserted ladies' room).
- If it is too quiet in the bathroom, you know someone is trying to poop. Leave as fast as you can so they can get on with it.
-No cell phone conversations. Ever. Hang up and call back. Your chatter in the stall next door makes me self conscious.
-No cell phone conversations. Ever. Hang up and call back. Your chatter in the stall next door makes me self conscious.
Of course, rule numero uno for any bathroom is that you DO NOT use the stall next to someone when there are other open stalls. You just don't. It's creepy. You're too close to me, and when I can hear every move you make -when I can hear you breathing- I know that you can hear me too and it just ruins my bathroom experience.
So, why do people at my office insist on choosing the stall next to mine when the bathroom isn't crowded? Why would they even want to? How could they possibly not fathom how awkward the situation is? I can not only hear you trying to hold your breath, but the sound of you peeing is so loud that you might as well be on my lap. Uncomfortable and unnecessary. Please, there are three other open stalls in the bathroom (four if you count the one with the door that gets stuck closed). Pick one of them. I strategically placed myself in this stall so you have the optimum number of other-stall options. MOVE OVER.
Also, how is it that everyone chooses to use the bathroom at the same time? I'm honestly vexed by this question. For the past month, I've noticed that at certain times when I walk into the bathroom ALL of the stalls are taken (except for one). This presents a horrible situation. I obviously have to pee, but I want to leave because the bathroom is packed. I'm trapped, however, by that one open stall. I have to use it. Which then makes me that person who sits in the stall next to you. But I can't avoid it because all of the other stalls are taken. Thus I'm trapped in a warped vortex of bathroom manners that pulls me in all directions. Have to pee - must stay. Too many people in here - must go. But there's an open stall - must STAYYY. But I don't want to sit next to someone - must GOOOO. All in all I generally end up agitated and dash into the empty stall, holding my breath so the person next to me doesn't hear me and trying to get out of there as quickly as possible. If you tell me this hasn't happened to you at least once, you're lying.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)