Splish Splash, an Accidental Bath

Do you know what literally AND figuratively sucks? Public toilets with an automatic flusher, that's what. I wouldn't mind them a bit if they flushed ALWAYS at the right moment. But they don't. Sometimes you are just sitting there, doing your thing and WHOOSHHHH! Your naughty bits are caught in the cyclonic flurry of dirty water being pulled - with surprising force - down the tubes. The worst is when the toilet sprayer/bowl filler isn't positioned properly. You'll know you're sitting on one like that when suddenly cold toilet water is sprayed all over your undercarriage. That always feels so nice and refreshing, doesn't it?? It's moments like that when I like to have a nice industrial grade piece of sand paper with which to scrape the epidermal layer off. Because soap and water just won't get me clean enough after dirty public toilet water is sprayed on my ass.

Now I know why these auto sprayers exist. It's because people (not you and me, obviously, but other, piggier people) don't flush public toilets. For some twisted reason there is a subculture of people who will do The Deed and leave it for the rest of us to happen upon. WHY?! Are they particularly proud of their effort? Is it a practical joke? Are they so Busy and Important that they forget??

Regardless of the reason I don't see why I, a committed flusher, am subjected to these heinous toilets. I will decide when I am done and we're ready to flush.

Another problem I've heard about is people who don't wash their hands after "going". So what's next? A machine that decides for you that you MUST wash your hands at that second and then it - with NO warning - sprays soapy water on your hands? The second the stall door opens a small bucket dumps, with mediocre accuracy, where your hands are SUPPOSED to be? One out of every five toilet users would leave the room with a big splash on their shirt.

OH. And daylight savings time SUCKS. Whoever dreamed this little nugget up can kiss my left nut.

Hey humor-blogs...flush THIS.

Florida: The Good. The Bad. The Holy SHIT!!!

So you know...I live in Florida now. The good news is that my southern accent is stronger than ever - I think it was some sort of defense mechanism...of or for what, I have no idea. I definitely miss Atlanta and my friends, though, especially now. Spring in Atlanta is SO beautiful. But Florida is pretty nice, too. We go to the beach at least once a week and we all love having a pool in the backyard. Also, my husband makes me a Planter's Punch every night and I don't even feel guilty by knocking it back - we're on vacation, right?? A couple of weeks ago I was reading the news and saw this weird picture: In case your eyes can't make sense of it, I'll give you a hint. It's not a puppy. I'm guessing it's not an air freshener, either. It is, in fact, a Burmese Python that ruptured and now has a really big dead Alligator sticking out of it's stomach. Oh, and something ate the snakes head off. That's why there is no head there. National Geographic has

Oooohhh...I just LOVE when you wrap it around me... do it again, please?

I had heard that "crack" kills. I just never really believed it until I saw it with my own eyes. (Bless his heart.) About 3 years ago I was 6 months pregnant and had two daughters (aged 4 and 5). We were all traveling from Bellingham, WA to Atlanta, GA with a VERY brief layover in Dallas. We were booked on a major airline that should remain anonymous as they are a bunch of asshats (but they rhyme with "Mamerican Mairlines") and we had to leave for the airport at 3:30 AM in order to catch our 7AM flight. It was Suck City. By the time our car arrived in Seattle my husband and I were barely speaking to each other and the girls had marks on their faces and arms from the backseat smack-down they had while out of our reach. When I went to the counter to speak with the representative she informed me that even though our seats had been purchased many months ago and seat assignments had been given all of that had changed and we were no longer sitting together as a family. I

Pervy McPervert strikes again!

When I was a kid I used to make the occasional prank call. But then I turned 13 and decided that it was a fairly retarded way to spend ones time. I've also received a few "heavy breathing" calls in my day. My mom finally bought us a whistle and said that whenever "he" called that we were to blow the whistle as loud as we could into the phone. That worked although I do wish she had specified that before blowing the whistle I should take the receiver away from my head as my ear made this weird ringing noise for days afterward. But it got rid of the pervert. It's a new day, however, and perverts must be looking for new ways to annoy us. Twice today someone has texted a picture to me. I have no idea who he is or what the hell he wants. But he must think that I don't know that sometimes shirtless men squeeze their arms against their chest to give the appearance that they actually have biceps when, in fact, their arms really look like toothpicks that are broke

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