Tag Archives: Bathroom

Say cheese!

15 Jan

There comes a time in everyone’s life when you just happen to get photographed (or videotaped) naked. Or nekked as I like to call it.

First, Mommy thinks it’s precious to snap some film while her little Schmoopy’s in a bubble bath. Then as you grow up, your big sister or brother thinks it’s hilarious to take pictures while you’re undressing. In fury you lurch to grab the camera only to *whoops* accidentally drop your drawers to the floor. Blackmail would ensue and you’d be stuck with all the chores for a whole month.

Ah, harmless pranks of youth.

As adults, it aint so funny. Unless of course you are posing for said skin pics. And by posing, I mean, getting paid. And a consent form has been signed. And the moolah deposited in the bank.

Until then, it’s simply not de rigueur to snap one’s camera whilst another is in flagrante in de shower.

Flash back to the hubby’s birthday. We were in the Big Easy for some big food, and big crazy ass fun. Three other couples were with us, and well, we were all-a-drinking-eating-drinking-laughing-drinking-earningbeads and drinking.

Did I mention we were drunk like the WHOLE freaking time?

After gorging on oysters and wine at Acme, we headed back to our condo to nap a bit, clean up a bit, and head back out for more food and debauchery.

That’s when it happened.

While the hubby was taking a shower, our friend Mr. Inch decided it was time to photo-document hubby’s fine form. Inch slowly opened the bathroom door, stealthily grabbed the shower curtain and BANG! Whipped open the curtain, and snap snap snap – took  nekked photos and laughed uproariously.

The rest of us were rekindling our buzz in the family room when it all went down so we didn’t at first hear the hubby’s expletives. The WHAT THE FUCKs? The GODDAMITs. The GET THE FUCK OUTTA HEREs.

Hell, we’ve known Inch and his wife Betty for a long time. They’ve even seen my nekked boobies. But that’s another story involving drunken boating and Mai Tai’s.

So it wasn’t a big deal that Inch took a pic on our Big Easy trip of the hubby’s big dick. {I really felt compelled to rhyme in this post. Sue me.}

We all got a good laugh over the whole peeping paparazzi incident. I saw the dick pic and I must say, I was proud.  {Insert applause and high fives}

Fast forward like 4 months.

We’re at Inch and Betty’s for a party. Several couples are scrolling through Inch’s digital dial when my radar went off. It dawned on me – Inch never deleted those photos. The hubby’s tallywacker was still on his camera.

Somebitch. I walked as fast as I could in super high strappy sandals and grabbed the camera. I then clickity clacked myself away as fast as I could, which was hard given the aforementioned strappy sandals.

Yep. Nekked dick pics were still there. Inch just laughed and shrugged. Using gross exaggeration, I deleted the photos.

Hubby just kinda winked at a couple of the ladies but me? I was not all that amused. Inch sauntered back over and whispered two words “Memory card.” And then “Flickr.”

One day – Inch.Will.Pay.

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My Shitty Shoes

13 Nov

 

I definitely play favorites with my shoes. They have specific personalities and when I wear them, they evoke specific emotions from me.

Yep – my 5″ gladiator black stilettos make me feel fierce whereas my 2″ tan clogs make me feel – well, a bit sad. I mean, given the choice, wouldn’t you rather wear strappy and sexy?

So it’s with much dismay that I find myself suddenly disgusted today.

First – how dare you walk your dog in public and let Peanut take a dump on the edge of the sidewalk. What a dick. Your dog might take “wittle poo poos”  (cuz I’m sure that’s how you say that), but shit is shit. And your dog shat and you didn’t pick it up.

Peanut’s poo might be pebbles, but when stepped on, this is the only time when I can legitimately say that size doesn’t matter.

And I was wearing my 4″ black knee high boots – the ones I’ve only worn once. The ones that make me feel daring and tall. And I needed daring and tall today.

I’m in public pawing a small patch of grass trying to get the poo off. People are looking at me. I’m about to hurl cuz I don’t know what you fed Peanut, but it smelled like that dog ate belly button lint. Just gross. Thanks.

I give in and stand in line at the Starbucks to get a bottle of water and some napkins. Then I thought “aha” – and sneak into the bathroom. Now I’m sure these public bathrooms are all spotless and sanitary, but I’m not about to take my boot off and stand in my tights on that floor. Hail no. Nor am I going to pop a squat on the toilet seat to clean em up.

So I settle for wetting down a bunch of paper towels and reverting to plan A. Pawing my dirty boot on the floor. By now, I’m pissed. This job is going to require some extensive surgery to remove the poo from the grooves. I’m forced to come home.

Thanks to my handiwork with toothpicks, the boot is poo free, but now I don’t want to wear them anymore. They are now evoking disgust from me. It wasn’t their fault, but at least for today, the memory of being smeared with poo goo is just too fresh.

And now that I’m back home, I guess my fuzzy black slippers will just have to do.

Showering in public

18 Sep

One of the best things about being on our friend’s big boat is well, being on their big boat. We arrived on Thursday at sunset, and it was beautiful – fog was rolling down the hill, you could see the bank of fog that had earlier engulfed the SF Bay, but in our little marina in Sausalito, it was just GOR-GEOUS.

It was a challenge to work from the boat on Friday but somehow between spotty wifi from the coffee house that blares bad french music, and my blackberry with the itty bitty screen, I got the job done.

We had dinner reservations at Sushi Ran so armed with my big bag of girlie goods, I left the big boat and headed to the marina showers.

I’ve used these showers before – we stay on our friend’s big boat every September – so I knew what to expect. First year I was not so wise. That year I went barefoot. Was damn lucky I didn’t contract some sort of scaly toe web fungus thingy.

Now that’s not to say the marina bathrooms are dirty – they are not. The poddy’s are very clean and well stocked. The counters are debris free and dry. But the shower stalls. Hmmm.

BUT – flip flops are a must. I imagine the lady who used the shower before me yesterday left bald. I was worried I’d have to use the toe of my flipper to nudge the hairball out of the drain – and equally worried if I didn’t I’d be standing ankle deep in a pool of soapy dreadlocks soon.

I decide this is not the time to luxuriate under the warm spray of water. Get the hell out asap. And that got me thinking about etiquette in public bathrooms.

We all know the courtesy flush is mandatory – and after you use the sink, you wipe the water off the counter – but what about the shower? What is the etiquette? I think common sense tells us to leave it in better condition than we found it, but I’m not game enough to go there here.

We were with HIM and HER and HE said anything goes – and he meant it. Given the risk of scaly moldy burning itchy feet, HE absolutely ascribes to peeing when HE gets in and again when HE gets out. Calls it organic, it’s the all-natural biocide. Thinks Whole Foods would buy it…

Needless to say, flip flops are a must people and it’s not just the hair in the drain you have to be worried about.  Thank god for anti-bacterial gel. Just saying.

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