Monday, February 8, 2010
At least it tastest good.
I woke up inexplicably early this morning. 8:30. 8:38, to be precise. Which I guess is practically 8:40, but it serves my purpose to not round up. I went to sleep about 1:30, so I guess seven hours is not terrible. But when you're aiming for ten... disappointing. So after bathroom time and trying to trick my eyelids into staying closed, I decided to just give in and wake up. I grabbed my laptop (always dorkably close) and started my morning regimen of Facebook. I haven't brushed my teeth yet, but I've been on Facebook. Should I even be admitting that? No, you know what? I'm going to brush my teeth. Right now.
Coming back from the bathroom and climbing back into SuperBed! has reminded me how desperately I need a shower. I went out with two good friends last night to a nifty little bar that used to be a gas station. The problem I have with bars is not the creepy old guy with big rings and a leather jacket hitting on me when all I want to do is close my tab and go home to bed. It's the cigarette smoke. I don't mind if my friends smoke around me. Honestly, stale cigarette smoke is one of those gross smells that I secretly like. Like mildew and diesel. But my hair (and now my pillow) doesn't smell like old Camels. Oh no, it smells like Camel and Marlboro and American Spirit had a kinky night with Virginia Slim and she got knocked up with smelly, Maury Povich triplets and gave stinky birth to them in my hair. And I have a lot of really nice hair products I can use now, but it's cold! I hate having wet hair and drying off in the cold. And I live in the basement of a hundred year old house. It's ridiculously cold down here.
Great. Boyfriend and I have been texting all morning, and he just told me he's getting in the shower. Great minds. Now I'll be completely distracted from blogging by the idea of him being naked. He he. Oh, this is completely unproductive.... I just kind of stared at my screen for a few seconds, imagining him nekkid. Heh. Remembering watching him move around our hotel room last week on our clothing optional days... Blast! What am I supposed to do now? All I'm thinking about is shower sex, and I had this whole snow themed blog cookin' in my noggin, and now it's gone! Poof! Magically replaced by pleasant memories of shower sex.
Seriously, though, shower sex is awesome. I'm one of those people that will just stand in a warm shower for 15 minutes because it feels nice. It's impossible for me to take short showers. I love them so very, very much. So combining showers with sex? I mean, there's no comparison to the synergy of that awesomeness. That's doing two of the greatest things ever, simultaneously. No other pairing of swell things works out that well. Bacon cheeseburgers and roller coasters? Messy. Oral sex and strawberry milkshakes? Cold and sticky. A good book and a trampoline? Completely incompatible.
Coming back from the bathroom and climbing back into SuperBed! has reminded me how desperately I need a shower. I went out with two good friends last night to a nifty little bar that used to be a gas station. The problem I have with bars is not the creepy old guy with big rings and a leather jacket hitting on me when all I want to do is close my tab and go home to bed. It's the cigarette smoke. I don't mind if my friends smoke around me. Honestly, stale cigarette smoke is one of those gross smells that I secretly like. Like mildew and diesel. But my hair (and now my pillow) doesn't smell like old Camels. Oh no, it smells like Camel and Marlboro and American Spirit had a kinky night with Virginia Slim and she got knocked up with smelly, Maury Povich triplets and gave stinky birth to them in my hair. And I have a lot of really nice hair products I can use now, but it's cold! I hate having wet hair and drying off in the cold. And I live in the basement of a hundred year old house. It's ridiculously cold down here.
Great. Boyfriend and I have been texting all morning, and he just told me he's getting in the shower. Great minds. Now I'll be completely distracted from blogging by the idea of him being naked. He he. Oh, this is completely unproductive.... I just kind of stared at my screen for a few seconds, imagining him nekkid. Heh. Remembering watching him move around our hotel room last week on our clothing optional days... Blast! What am I supposed to do now? All I'm thinking about is shower sex, and I had this whole snow themed blog cookin' in my noggin, and now it's gone! Poof! Magically replaced by pleasant memories of shower sex.
Seriously, though, shower sex is awesome. I'm one of those people that will just stand in a warm shower for 15 minutes because it feels nice. It's impossible for me to take short showers. I love them so very, very much. So combining showers with sex? I mean, there's no comparison to the synergy of that awesomeness. That's doing two of the greatest things ever, simultaneously. No other pairing of swell things works out that well. Bacon cheeseburgers and roller coasters? Messy. Oral sex and strawberry milkshakes? Cold and sticky. A good book and a trampoline? Completely incompatible.
If I master this, I will soon master the Universe.
Well, at least the talk of bacon cheeseburgers and strawberry milkshakes has made me realize I haven't eaten in 15 hours. Maybe I'll grab a sweater and wander upstairs into the house. Grab some coffee with kahlua, because it's not yet noon, and I always like to get a head start. Also, because if I learned anything from Hannah Barbera cartoons, it's that if you're freezing to death, drink the alcohol from the barrel around the dog's neck. Apparently, alcohol has magical warming properties. I can look out the window at the snow and see if I can push shower sex thoughts out of my head long enough to remember what I was going to say about the friggin' snow earlier. Oh well.
Heh heh.
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About Me
- Lori
- Seattle, United States
- During this course of study, you will come to learn much about the strange eating, sleeping and mating habits of the Instrospective Lori under stress. We will observe as she moves halfway across the country to start a life with her own Captain Wentworth, takes a year off of work to pursue a writing career, and incessantly references Jane Austen.
1 comments:
The Oral Sex and Strawberry Milkshake one is the revolting combo. I am such a sticky-gooey-phobe that the thought of having something sticky in the vicinity of private parts is just really disturbing.
And I do mean it, I hate having junk on my hands. You know how kindergarteners usually love finger painting? Getting all in it with the paint everywhere. I hated it.
You know how biscuit dough gets all sticky and all over your hands? I have some of the quickest biscuits ever because I just want to get the dough done and off my hands. LOL