TMI Thursday: Would you rather?

It's been a long time, but... I had an "episode" this week, and I HAD to share it with you guys.  So, here it goes.




Monday I ran a few errands.  Starbucks, grocery store, bank, etc.  I decided to do a bit of driving around to look at a couple of places I would consider for a future studio, blah blah blah, and I headed back to the other side of town to hit the post office before a consult I had.  As I was about five minutes from the Post Office, I started to get... that feeling.

You know.  The rumbly, tumbly, farty feeling in your stomach.  The one that makes you squinch your face in confusion.  The one that makes you tuck your gut and clench your butt.  The one that you hope will pass.  The one that makes you think, "What the hell did I eat?"  I shifted in my seat and made an uncomfortable pout, and after a few blocks, realized that the feeling wasn't going away.  Alas... it was not a mere gas bubble.

It hit me that I had to, HAD to find a bathroom, or I'd shart myself.

Where I was driving, there were two options:  Walgreens, or McDonalds.  I knew that the bathroom all the way at the back of the Walgreens would likely be too far.  I couldn't risk it.

And here's the problem:  I HATE McDonalds.  After Supersize Me and McLibel, I'm disgusted by the company.  I loathe everything about them, their food, their ethics, the way they treat their employees, the garbage they market to children and the suppliers of their meat.  (Another story for another day.)

I haven't stepped foot inside a McDonalds in over a year and a half.  The other problem is that I feel guilty using the bathroom somewhere and not being a "customer."  Usually if I stop on a road trip at a gas station or restaurant, I buy something, at least a Diet Coke or a pack of gum or something.  But I definitely wasn't going to do that there.  And so, suddenly, I was forced with that grand daddy question:  "Would you rather?"  You know.  Would you rather immerse your naked body in a bathtub of cockroaches or dive naked head first into a pool of tobacco spit?  Would you rather chew a piece of toenail off of a dirty man's foot, or thoroughly lick his un-showered armpit?

So, it was:  Would you rather go into McDonalds, or shit your pants?

You guys, I marched waddled my clenched ass right into that McDonalds.  And it was beautiful.  Well, it wasn't beautiful.  But I felt a whole hell of a lot better.  And I left without buying anything.  Now I can say that I don't give McDonald's my money.  I only give them my crap when I really, really can't hold it.

~J

TMI Thursday: Butts and Cats.

I do apologize for having not done a TMI Thursday in a while.  Unfortunately my life is devoid of really embarrassing things.  But, I have something great to share with you today!



This week, as normal, Dan decided to try to get one of our cats, Mocha, to lay on me.  Sometimes the cats need a little coaxing to cuddle, and though I normally don't care, Dan will go nuts trying to get them to lay down on my lap.  It gets to the point that the cats usually end up fighting him, and scratching me, when I was only minding my own damn business in the first place.

Well last night, Dan got Mocha to come lay on my lap while I was laying on the couch.  I mainly think it was because I was covered up with this really super soft blanket that the cats love.  She didn't stay put for very long, and Dan tried to grab her but she pushed away from him with her back side.  Dan scooted closer to me and I noticed a smell.  Not just any smell, but the smell of POOP.  I looked at him and asked, "What is that smell!?"  He said, "What smell?"  I said, "I swear, Mocha just got poop on your arm."

He put his forearm up to my face and told me to check.  Now, normally, I would NOT oblige this request, but Dan has a sort of... impaired sense of smell.  So, it was up to me.  So, I sniffed it, and yep, it smelled distinctly and grossly like cat ass.

Dan got up from the couch and said, "Dammit, Mocha!"  It was nasty, but I was laughing at him.

AND... it doesn't end there.  Before going to wash his arm off, Dan went over to where Mocha was laying on the couch next to me.  He promptly pulled down his pants and boxers and rubbed his bare ass on her.  For some reason, she didn't move, but just looked really confused.  He rubbed his ass cheeks on her and said, "Take that!  That's what you get!  Put poop on me?  TAKE THAT!"

I was laughing so hard, you guys.  It almost makes it bearable that the soft blanket also smells like cat ass.  I love Dan.  And it's only appropriate I share this today because it's his birthday! :)


~  Jenn

TMI Thursday: A Shredded Shower Sissy.

So, today I went to Esther's house and we did my day 3 and her day 4 of the 30-Day Shred! I forgot my camera so I can only show you a picture of how freakin' excited I was to be at her house, and I took this with my iPhone.



Don't worry, tomorrow I'll have a proper picture of us together! :)

Other blogger buddies who are doin' the shred:

Shredheads, the Ultimate Guide to the 30 Day Shred.
The Long Hard Road out of Hell
The Insatiable Host
Monica at Confessions of a + Sized Girl
My Shred Buddy, Esther of FaintStarLite
Erin at The XXL Files
Tammy's Tale
Fit N Healthy by Fifty
Take Up Your Bed and Walk
It's Just You And Me

I seriously think there are tons more of you guys who are doing the shred with us but I can't remember who all is doing it or not doing it. Let me know in the comments if you're shreddin' it up too! We're all gonna be svelt for the holidays, baby.

So, I'm sore. Like, ridic sore. Like, it hurts to brush my hair and put on a hoodie and stand up from the couch or sit down to pee. I'm looking forward to not being so sore and so freakin' outta shape.

I'm also a bit disappointed because I've gained a few pounds. I've heard that happens when you start doing strength training because all the tears in your muscles retain extra water. I just need to keep going and push through. I was feeling all motivated to go to the gym after we shredded today, but I felt really light headed on the drive home, so I decided to go home and eat lunch and not push it. Maybe I can get in Zumba tomorrow night. That'd be cool. I've really been feeling a desire to run and/or do the elliptical lately. It's all the Biggest Loser I've been watching, I'm sure.

So, anyway, I'm going to expand. I've had some questions asking how the shred is going. I figured the best way to show you all what it feels like is with a quick video. And it's totally TMI, 'cause it shows me working out, and it shows me in the shower. Don't get too scared... I'm not showing my nudie bits.

And just in case it's not TMI enough for you, here's a picture of me with twizzler bits stuck up my nose so I can smell them and not have to eat them.




Allrighty, here we go. And since this isn't quite the normal TMI type material, be sure to visit LiLu's blog (click the button) for all the fabulous and horrible and nasty and awesome TMI Thursday stories.




OH! And I have to say that this video was completely inspired by my sexy mama girlfriend lovah cute faced partner in crime, Sue, over at Did I Just Eat That Outloud. Depart forth with over yonder to check out the awesomeness that is her blog after you watch my vid. <3




~J

TMI Thursday: Who pees on Jesus?

Okay. First I'm going to tell you all that I weighed in this morning at a glorious 174.8 pounds! That means I've officially lost 50 pounds!!! YAY! I got this gorgeous new button from Scale Junkie:



Now, all about our Thanksgiving!

First: I called my Dad and told him how I was all sad that I didn't wake up to my Mother coming into my room with Tom the Turkey and asking me to give it a good luck spank. My parents did pizza and football for Thanksgiving this year, so my Dad said, "Well, the only thing we're spanking here is the pepperoni." I laughed, but asked him to never say that ever again.

Then: I decided on what to wear. A dress I bought but couldn't fit into until now!



And Then: We took some pretty pictures after we ate some yummy food. I stuck to the plate rule and I had one bite's worth of each kind of pie (pumpkin, cherry and pecan.) I didn't feel deprived, I wasn't uncomfortably full and it was enjoyable! :)

Dan and I:


Me with Dan's beautimus sister:


We Also: Did a gift card and ornament exchange and I scored Starbucks. WOO HOO! Oh, and we showed the family our latest holiday photos, and they were a big hit. :)

Now it's time for the TMI of the day.

After all the food was put away and we were all hanging around, I had to pee. I went down the fancy hallway, into the fancy bathroom and I did my tinkle business. Right across from the toilet, these folks had a big gold cross on the wall with a sign that said, "Everything happens for a reason. Just believe." They are pretty religious folks. So I was staring at this cross for a few minutes and then I reached over to grab some toilet paper. This is what I saw:



I looked at the toilet paper and then I looked at the big gold cross. I looked closer. It was a frickin' J-C.



I'm sitting there on the verge of drip drying, trying to figure out why the hell anyone would put Jesus Christ's initials on their toilet paper. Yes, I understand folks being really, really religious, but wouldn't that totally be... like, seriously, seriously blasphemous? I started to freak out and think I would go to hell if I used this toilet paper.

I sucked it up and turned it inside out when I wiped. I said a little apology prayer as I flushed, and then I went out into the living room. I asked Dan to go into the bathroom and tell me what the heck was on the toilet paper.

He took one look and said, "H."

Yeah. Apparently I'm a moron. It's an "H" for their last name.




Hope you all had the best Thanksgivings yet! Tomorrow? Get ready to rock the 30-Day Shred!!!

~J

TMI Thursday: Giant Panties. For Real Tho.

Alrighty! So, I can finally blog about this you guys.

Here we go!



We all know that losing weight has some serious advantages. We also know that losing weight makes finding new clothes that fit challenging. I did a blog post on the clothing issue a while back, but the other issue I'm running into now is...

GIANT PANTIES.

It starts slow. The panties start to ride up and try to sneak into my butt. I pull them back into place and move on with my day. Then it just starts to get totally out of control. They fully have NO interest staying where they should stay. They flop around and bag out and pooch over the top of my jeans.

Don't believe me? Good. I have photographic proof. 'Cause I asked Dan to take pictures of my ridiculous ass, and he was laughing SO hard while taking these photos, I can't even explain it to you. He just kept saying, "It looks so funny! What do you have?" And I'd say, "Giant panties" and he would just laugh and blow snot and spit everywhere from guffawing and I'd say, "TAKE the damn pictures already!

/sigh.


If you don't want to see my saggie baggies just turn away now.








And the coup de gras:




Frack. I REALLY need some new skivvies. I mean, seriously. It looks like I have a giant dump of white poo in my drawers.


And this couldn't have come at a better time. Our very favorite Cutefaced, Rum-Lovin' Insatiable Host is starting a really fun project called The Panty Pyramid.

I'm out to get me some new undies, y'all. It's time I took care of myself by losing weight, yes, but also by remembering to do things like... get a pedicure, and pluck my damn eyebrows, and buy pretty underthings that fit me.

That goes for you all, too.

~J

TMI Thursday: Tampon No-No.

Unfortunately, USPS has failed to deliver my camera cord in a timely fashion, so the reveal on the giant panties will have to wait until next week.

But have no fear. I'm going to let it rip this week with a way, way, WAY TMI Thursday.

Here goes.






Okay.

I'm six or seven years old. We're living in the same house as we did during the poop paint incident. I have an obsession and fascination with all things "grown up," and particularly with all things "Mom." As most young girls, I am intrigued by lipstick and dresses and heels and all the little schniblits of womanhood I find in my Mom's drawers. Well, this day I decide to go through the cabinets in the bathroom.

I find all kinds of stuff I've seen before: toilet paper, cleaning supplies, creams and ointments, etc. One thing I find, I'm not quite sure what it is, but I know it's distinctly Mom.

A box of tampons.

I pull one out and I have no clue what it is or what it does or what it's for. I immediately stuff it into my pocket and run down the hall into my room. I shut myself inside and sit on the bed. I pull the tampon out of my pocket and I look at it.

What the crap is this thing?

I open the paper and pull out this weird cardboard contraption with a string on it. I'm pretty sure it goes into a person but I have no idea how, or where it's supposed to go. I figure if it was meant for the ears or nose I would have seen it by now, so I determine it has to go somewhere down there. Now, I consider my girlie-bits to be an off-limits, no touchie zone. I certainly don't think anything goes IN there, 'cause it's covered up all the time, and nothing comes OUT of there. Because I'm six.

It's obvious then. This tampon thing goes in my butt.

I'm really quiet and listen hard to make sure nobody is coming up the stairs or in the hallway. Coast clear. I pull down my pants and underwear. I get into a squatkneelbootieout type of position, still on the bed, all wobbly, and I try to put the tampon in my butt.

I get nowhere. I try again, and it kind of hurts. I push a little more and it stays sorta in there. So I'm squatkneeling there with this thing in my butt, and I DO NOT GET IT. I wait another few seconds and then declare to myself, "This is dumb," and pull it out. I pull up my pants and wrap the tampon up in a bunch of tissue paper and throw it away in my bedroom trash can.

I have never told anyone about this. You guys should really, really feel special.

So. Don't put tampons in your butt. That's not what they're for.

Unless you're taking Alli.

~J

TMI Thursday - Mr. Fudge Fingers.

This one is courtesy of my parents. It's a story I've heard many times before, but it's one I definitely need to share with you guys on TMI Thursday.



My brother Daniel was a very hyper active child. I mean, seriously hyper active, crazy ADD, wanna climb on everything and get into everything kind of kid. Not so much in the temper tantrum kind of way, but more in the chew on the corner beading kind of way. He'd swing from the curtains and he would get out of his crib during the night. My Dad woke up one night to find that Daniel had crawled out of his crib, gotten out of his room, crawled downstairs, into the kitchen, up onto the counter, opened up the drawers and started playing with the silverware.

That was the last straw. They knew they had to do something.

My parents went to the doctor and asked what to do about Daniel getting out of the crib, after all... a kid still in diapers, though posessing all the energy he did, could still hurt himself. They didn't want him falling out of the crib and knocking his dear little head on the floor or something. The doctor told them to simply put the mattress on the floor, and my brother would be fine. So, into the little window cubby the mattress went, and that's how it had to go to keep Daniel's face as cute as ever, and not smooshed on the ground after a fall. With that, they also had to put a lock on the door so he couldn't get out and into things while they were sleeping.

One morning, my lovely mother went upstairs in the old house to get Daniel up. She opened the door and noticed that the walls looked different. There was some kind of weird pattern or design all over the walls by the mattress. Now, there definitely hadn't been a room decorater invited overnight. She thought "Crayons?" But there were no play-things in the room - all the toys were kept downstairs. She crept closer and noticed that Daniel wasn't wearing his diaper.

Oh, shit.

Literally.

On the walls.

My brother, apparently, had a very, very artistic brain. No crayons? Poop will do! (paint, paint paint.)

My Mother called my Dad up to the room to check out the talent. My Dad took one look in the room and said, "Well, I have to go to work! Bye!!" (I laugh every time I hear that.) So, my Mother tells me that Daniel had a bath, the room had a bath, then Mom had a bath.

Ultra hilarious. :)

~Jenn

TMI Thursday: Puke isn't sexy.

Okay. I'm gonna preface this with a little backstory on my goody-two-shoes lameness. I never drank when I was in high school. I was raised in a pretty conservative household and I was never at any "cool" parties or bondage soirees or dog fights. In fact, by the time I hit my sophomore year in college, I hadn't had more to drink than one wine cooler, for which my parents pulled me out of the musical my Junior year in high school. SO, needless to say I was a drinking virgin, to the max.

After I moved out I was reunited with some high school friends I hadn't seen in the three years since graduation. One of whom is gorgeous. I mean, seriously, ridiculously, wannastabmyselfintheface gorgeous. I had a huge crush on this guy in high school, and being the super delux nerd I was, I never had a chance with the guy. In fact, today we'll call him "Guy." 'Cause, well, he's a Guy and I'm protecting his embarassed identity for having anything to do with me.

So. I ended up at a party with him, and my alcoholic friend... Fred. Fred was wearing a welding helmet and swigging Smirnoff, and I had no idea what it tasted like, or why these people had two old doors set up on some step ladders with a bunch of cups lined up like bowling pins. I wasn't kidding, I was in totally new drinkin' territory. So, I was standing there with Guy, looking at his face and thinking about how I wanted to lick it off, and how I needed to say something so he didn't excuse himself to something more exciting, like picking the lint between his toenails in the bathroom. I asked him the most exhilirating thing I could come up with. "Do you guys party like this all the time?" (Brilliant, Jenn.) He said to me, "Yep, it's basically what we do." Then after a gorgeous pause, said, "You're way too much of a good girl."

Of course, being half retarded, I had no idea what to say, so I just asked him, "What do you mean?" He said, "Well, we just need to get you comfortable with drinking mid-week. Like, what would you do if I came to your house Wednesday with a bottle of whiskey?" I said, "We'd drink it." (I felt so cool at this point, you have no idea.)

So, Guy came to my house the next week with Seven and Seven and "Once Upon a Time in Mexico." I was freakin' thrilled, ya'll.

Guy. Me. Alone. Ohholyjesus.

Now, I should tell you people that I have never seen this movie. I mean, even today, never seen it. I don't know what it's about, really. I know there's some sand in it, and maybe some cowboy boots, and a hot chick somewhere. And a guitar maybe? See, I was splitting my time fairly evenly between staring at Guy's face, dreaming about his hands all over me, tugging at my shirt all nervous like, and pretending to know how to drink.

We drank shot after shot of whiskey, and I felt like the badass of badasses. Even more basasslike, of course, as I pounded back those sweet, nasty, delicious little thimblefuls of liquid pain. I was sexy and invincible, and it was awesome. But, as each shot went down my gullet-hatch, things got fuzzier, and dreamier, and queasier.

So, Guy decided that the four, five, eight, whatever number of shots we'd each taken, weren't enough. Nope. We needed to play drinking chess. (Obviously, 'cause it's way more classy than drinking checkers.) So, he was over on my floor setting this up and I, of course, got off the couch and walked over there to help him. Oh. Wait. No, I didn't. I didn't even really see him setting up the chess board, 'cause my legs didn't work. I tried to get up, but instead was sliding off the couch, onto the floor.

Guy was apparently oblivious to the prepukesdrool rolling down my chin, 'cause if he wasn't oblivious, he would have been terrified, and not nearly as excited to exclaim, "Let's play!" ...So, at this point, I was on all fours, crawling like a hallucinating crabwoman through the living room, trying really hard not to fall over before I got to the bathroom. But, I had no idea where the bathroom was. My place was all of 800 square feet, so it shouldn't have been difficult, but I had no clue what was going on except "Must. Find. Toilet." I don't exactly remember what I said, but it was probably something really close to, "Don't... feel... good," and then, I ralphed all over the carpet. Yep. Gorgeous Guy. My house. One chance to make him think I was the sexiest, coolest thing... and I puked all up on the floor.

The best part is, that apparently the first puke wasn't the only puke I needed. I just kept on crawling toward the bathroom, closed the door once I got inside and kept puking in the toilet. I came back out, pretty sure to find Guy had gone Bye-Bye. Instead? He was cleaning up my puke.

Too gorgeous, sexy as hell, Mariah Carey song style Dream Lover, Guy, cleaned up my whiskey puke.

I wanted to die.

And I've never been able to even come close to whiskey again after that.

~J

TMI Thursday: I peed in my pants.

**Quick note: There is now a size 12 giveaway at the Bloggerhood of the Traveling Not So Fat Pants, so if you're newly into a size 12 and would like some pants to motivate you to get too skinny for them, come enter! Be sure to read all the rules before entering. :)

Okay. You guys, I've been waiting for something totally humiliating to happen to me, and I just don't have that kind of luck. What did I do this week? I weighed myself a lot, I ate some salad, I carved a pumpkin and I tried on some clothes. That's about it. Unless searching my house high and low for a tampon qualifies as TMI material, I need to reach into the archives and tell you something embarrassing from my past. And I'm not even really that embarrassed about it. I think the problem with TMI, for me, is that it takes a LOT to embarrass me. A lot. I mean, I whole lot.

With that, here we go.



I used to pee my pants on a weekly basis when I was in fourth grade. And now that I just typed that, I realize that some folks I used to go to elementary school with might read my blog (lovely Facebook) - so, this should be interesting.

I'm not talking about wetting the bed or peeing my pants because I just couldn't hold it anymore, teacher!... Nope. I peed myself because of my deep love and dedication to laughter and the fine art of comedy.

Okay. So, at my elementary school we had this thing on the playground called "The Rainbow." It looked just like the biggest one of these:


So, I used to climb up on that thing with two other kids and we used to just sit up there during recess and laugh, laugh, laugh, tell jokes, and laugh. I am not sure what the jokes were, but I'm pretty sure they revolved around pooping, and pee, and so it was only fitting that I peed myself while laughing about pee. You know those letter jokes where you say, "Spell 'eye cup." and the person concentrates and says, "I see you pee!" Apparently that was the crux of elementary humor, y'all. I laughed so hard every day we did that, that I pissed my pants. When recess was over, I'd begin the slow, wet walk back to my classroom, and I'd angle my butt toward the wall so the huge wet spot wouldn't show.

Luckily, I only pee myself nowadays in very small amounts, and it's few and far between. I never peed my pants in a public place as an adult, but a teeny bit would come out if I was laughing way too hard, or sometimes when I let out a wicked sneeze.

But I'm telling you, I just don't know how my Mom did all that laundry and didn't notice the pee smell, or if she noticed it and was just like, "There's no way I'm even going there, 'cause my daughter is WAY too old to be peeing her pants... I don't have the energy for this." I have no idea. But I know that smell. Damp, pee-pee-pants, kid smell. And that was me. And I am gross.



And on another note, I have been getting my face rocked off by all these blog awards from you guys. Thank you!!

Ashleigh gave me this friends award:


My lovely Sandra gave me the Superior Scribbler Award:


And Jeniel gave me this best blog award:


So holy crap balls, thanks you guys!

What I'd like to do instead of passing the awards around and telling people to tell us 30 things about themselves and write 30 other bloggers down... (if I followed all the rules of all these blog awards, it'd be a long, long day...) is I'm just gonna share some link love, and hopefully you'll find another blog to love. :)

Swish Embassy for those of you who support the LGBT community or like looking at hot guys.
The Life and Times of the Other Woman for cheaters, cheatees and cheatinteresteds.
Welcome to the Hicks Mix for some genuine good and funny reads by miss Marilee.
Casual Blasphemes if you wanna hear some fat acceptance from a wicked brilliant writer.
FaintStarLite if you like watching vlogs done by a super cute WW mom.
Bitch Cakes. Once again, you need to know nothing other than the name, go now.
Instatiable Host, if you want someone down to earth and supportive as hell.


I could go on all day of course. Check out lots of the great blogs in my sidebar. You already know you need to be following Sue and Monica, right? Mkay, just checking.

Oh, and you know how I looked for a hula hoop with no success? (Check out this entry by my friend Beth, with instructions on how to make your own hula hoop!)

~Jenn

TMI Thursday: I'm gonna chew on your armpit.

Alrighty.

I had a different post I was going to do, but I think this is much more "TMI" material.

I still don't have any poop posts, so maybe something ungodly in the world of bowels will happen to me this week to tell you about next time.




This is about me, and how freaking WEIRD I get when it's time for bed. If you had any inklings that I was a "cool" person, they will end very, very shortly.

Every night it's just about the same, unless I'm drunk or so tired I pass out in a puddle of my own drool. Dan and I do the pre-bed ritual of putting off bed time until 3 or 4 am, usually after not being able to get off of the couch without watching "just one more" Dexter. He grabs my butt and I run into the bathroom, and we brush our teeth. Or, he'll start to brush his teeth and I pee, and then we switch. Yeah, we've got it comfortable like that, 'cause we've lived together for four and a half years. The mystery of peepeetime is gone.

After he gets really, really excited about me letting him take my bra off for me (he lives to show off his one-handed-bra-removal-wonder-skills), it's PJ's, and under the comforters we go. Now, we don't just say "g'night," and roll over and go to bed. No. We first huddle together under the covers to retain as much body heat under there as humanly possible, 'cause it's so cold in our bedroom. Then, I inevitably start my weirdness. I do the "nook" pose where I lay my head in "the nook" of his neck and since I'm on my side facing him, have my leg on his leg and my arm on his chest. This is about the point where I do one or all of the following:

• Blow zerberts on his stomach.
• Lick his nipples, 'cause he doesn't particularly enjoy that, but I laugh so hard when they turn into little thumbtacks that I have to do it. Then I pinch 'em, 'cause they're fun little nubbies.
• I have long nails, so I run them up and down his right side which is super ticklish, particularly when he's relaxed. I do it 'till he laughs and begs for me to stop, or until he gets goosebumps, and then begs for me to stop.
  

Okay, so those things might sit in the realm of semi-normal. I'm warning you, this is where it gets weird.

• I try to stick my finger in his butt through his boxers. Just because he's terrified of it, and he clenches, and we laugh SO hard, it's hilarious.
• I lick the spot under his armpit, 'cause his sweat is really salty, so it leaves his skin really salty, and dammit, I REALLY like salt. It tastes freakin' delicious to me, and he's all, "Eew, you're SO gross!" and I go, "No, you're SO high in sodium, but I like it," and he goes, "Gross," and I say, "Salt-licious" and lick my lips.
• I fart ridiculously loud if I've got one on deck, just 'cause it drives him nuts. I don't get outright mean about it and do a Dutch Oven or anything. I just love the rumbly sound, and if you're honest, you'll admit it feels really good to let out a huge fart. And I've heard that if you don't fart regularly, you could explode, so just bear that in mind when you're trying really hard to hold one in.
• The other night I suprised even myself after licking his side and I started to bite his happy trail hair. Like, I was sort of gnawing at it, and then I bit some off in my mouth, and had to spit it out. The crazy spit where you're all, "thbthbthbthtbhtbhtbthtbt" really fast? Yeah. And apparently in my slaphappystate, that wasn't enough bits 'o Dan-hair in my mouth and I looked up and asked him, "Can I chew on your armpit hair?" He looked at me with the most frightened look ever and said, "What??" I said, "Yeah, I just wanna munch on it for a minute." He was laughing pretty much uncontrollably by this time, but said, "Sure, go for it." And I'm pretty sure that was a dare, so I raised my eyebrows at him like, "Oh yeah?" and he just goes, "You're so freaking weird." Then I looked at his armpit. Then I looked back at him. I looked back at the armpit again and said, "Nevermind. I didn't think about the fact that I'd get a mouthful of deodorant." 'Cause clearly that's the only reason you wouldn't want to chew up someone's armpit hair.
  

I told Dan I was writing about this today and he's like, "Why would you tell people that stuff??" and I said, "Well, it's TMI Thursday, that's the point!" And he says, "What, to tell people you're the grossest girlfriend ever?" Yeah. 'Cause he says that all the time, and yet, he still loves me. I'm such a lucky girl. And Dan? ...Poor bastard.

~Jenn

TMI Thursday: I was scared by a naked furniture mover.

I have discovered the mecca of humiliation, and decidedly... must take part. Get ready for the first ever Ex Hot Girl installment of TMI Thursday.




It's kind of a shame to start with something that didn't actually happen this week, but I haven't been humiliated or had anything crazy, weird, drunk or gross happen... so I'm gonna start with an oldie but a goodie.

My boyfriend Dan moved to Colorado to be with me back in May of 2005. (We've since moved back here to Milwaukee.)


From what we can remember this happened a few months after he moved in.

It was a normal night, and I was sleeping sweetly in the bed with him after a fun night of drinking with our friends. All of a sudden I found myself torn from my sleep by the sound of scraping. Scrrrrrrrrrrrrrape. Scrrrrrrrrrrrrape. *Grunt* Scrrrrrrrrape. *Grunt!*

I sat up and looked around the room trying to figure out what the crap was going on, and reached over to the spot Dan sleeps in to wake him up. He wasn't there.

Just to share, this is what I'm used to seeing:


Sccrrrrrrrrrrrrape!!! ...again and it was to my left, sort of behind me. I turned around and saw Dan moving the giant bookshelf by our bed. These bookshelves are huge, and basically weigh the same as a normal dresser would. You'd think the most surprising thing about this would be that he was moving a bookshelf in the middle of the night, but in fact I was totally confused by something else. He was butt-ass-birthday suit - swingin' in the fan breeze naked.

Now, Dan doesn't sleep naked. I have no idea why he was naked. I normally enjoy it when he's naked, but this was odd and creepy, and I didn't know why he was moving the bookshelf.

I asked, "Honey?"

"Grumble, grumble, grumble, Scrrrrrrrape, *Grunt!*"

"Dan? Sweetie?" (I was shrinking into a freaked out ball at the foot of the bed, as far opposite from him as possible by this point...)

"Huh."

"What are you doing?"

"Moving this."

"Why?"

And with a really, really serious, 'Imeanbusiness,dammit' kind of tone, he said,"It needed to be done."

I was really freaked out by this point. He didn't sound like himself, and I was maybe not quite totally awake, but I started to get scared of him. How I found myself feeling intimidated by him, in all his naked vulnerable glory, I have no idea.

I got up and tiptoed to the guest bedroom while he was focusing on the dresser. I shut the door and locked it behind me. I laid down on the guest bed (wayyyy less comfortable than our bed, in case you're ever planning to visit,) and I just waited. I don't know what I was waiting for, but something in me felt like he was gonna come chase me. Sure enough I hear the door knob twist. It stopped and hit the "clack" of a lock. "Clackclackclackclack!" He shook the door knob and rattled the door. I was actually terrified at this point.

I have no idea why I was scared, or what I thought was going to happen, like he'd bust the door down and slap me in the face with his frank and beans and say, "It needed to be done!" over and over, but I was totally tripping balls. (And no, I hadn't been smoking pot or doing drugs or anything like that. I was needlessly paranoid.)

He didn't say anything while trying to get into the room. He didn't call my name or say "What's going on?" or anything like that. I am pretty sure he was still asleep when he was trying to get in.

It didn't take long before he gave up and went back to bed. The next morning I woke up to him knocking on the door. I let him in and he came and laid down on the guest bed with me.

He asked, "Why are you sleeping in here? Was I snoring?"

...
...
...

So... I told him the story and we laughed and laughed until we cried. To this day, "It needed to be done" is our answer to everything.

"Why did you eat the last of my yogurts?"
"Why did you park the car out front instead of in the garage?"
Why did I share this too-much-information story with you all?
"It needed to be done."

And just for fun, I'll share some photos that totally describe our relationship and how damn cute he is:



And my favorite one, cause I was so skinny. ;)


~Jenn