Jan-u-rawr.

There's a certain element of danger when pushing open the door on a public bathroom stall.

I always use extreme caution when performing this act, as if on the bomb squad team during a terrorism attack. Really, you never know what might be waiting for you on the other side of the aluminum partition. This is true of every public washroom from here to Omaha and it doesn't matter how fancy a place might be, at least one woman will have had explosive diarrhea that absolutely could not wait until she was safe at home.

Funny how it is that this same woman constantly forgets to flush it on down when she's finished rocketing last night's dinner out of her sphincter. I'm all for saving water and trees, but the lack of a wipe/flush just stands out as poor hygiene habits and an absence of courtesy and consideration for woman-kind.

There is also, of course, the unending tradition of the "pee on the seat" gals, who I imagine are some sort of barbarian tribe that stalk from gas station to gas station, refusing to use the protective sheet. They insist: "No, it's okay - I can hover perfectly centered above the toilet seat." I imagine these are the same woman who fucking flip when they realize that while their aim was true, it was not accurate enough and they now have their bladder's contents streaming down their inner thighs.

I must bring to your attention, too, the winged bandit and the tampon monster, who will intentionally aggravate fellow ladies by leaving more personal bits of themselves floating in the bowl. They are among the same species of women who, again, refuse to flush it down. Of course every other woman wants to know that you're on track with your menstrual cycle. That makes just makes sense!*

There is the rare occasion that an empty and somewhat sanitary-looking porcelain throne can be found and will be chosen to fulfill it's destiny as a toilet for you. Even then, perched pigeon-toed and demure, tinkling into the potty, does danger persist. If you're not immediately disgusted by the all-too candid stall graffiti (ex. Chelsea sucks dick for meth; Tiffany likes it in her ass and has herpes; I fucked your dad in here), you might be shocked to overhear the bodily functions of the chica next to you.
Better yet, that same chica might attempt conversation with you. For these women, the public toilet stall is like the confessional booth or a sort of anonymous advice column. I've had some of the most interesting of my life in bathrooms.

Example 1:
(at a shopping mall in Seattle)
Youngish-Sounding Girl: "Excuse me; do you think you could pass me some toilet paper? I've used all the paper in here."
Me: "Oh, that sucks. Here, no problem." (hands substantial wad)
Y-S Girl: "Yeah, thanks. Geez, I think I might have just miscarried."
Me: "Oh..wow. Are you okay?"
Y-S Girl: "Yeah, actually; I'm really happy about it."

Example 2:
(Starbucks bathroom)
Woman: "Hey, could I ask you something?"
Me: "Sure."
Woman: "What do you think of these shoes?" (puts her foot under; they're hideous)
Me: "They're pretty cute."
Woman: "You're wrong; they're sexy! Duh."

These are the same women who will leave promptly post-discussion, seldom washing their hands. Or if they do, they're the type that get grossed out by the door handle on the bathroom's door (go figure), and will touch it only with a paper towel, dropping it behind the door on their way out. I hate those bitches.

I suppose the whole truth about people is half unveiled in the stall, its entrance like the doors to a Narnia of farting enigmas. Such wondrous revelations I highly doubt are simply stumbled upon in the male-version of the public toilet - everyone already knows that men can be disgusting. I guess I am a bit biased, because other than my few experiences with co-ed facilities, I've never really been into a guy's bathroom. I think it might be time for a little investigative research, y'know? Wait, that's not like, illegal, is it?

*still indicates obvious sarcasm.

still around.

Isn't that funny how much of a build up there is to the holidays and then it's just...gone?

Okay, maybe not ha-ha funny, but whatever.

I made new year's resolutions, per usual. I figured this year I'd make resolutions that would be impossible not to stick to, like not turning into a man. That's a little too easy, though, and truthfully, it's not like I don't stick to resolutions - I sort of stick to them. Example: last year, I resolved to not eat Starbucks food and that stuck until mid-February, when we launched the Valentine's day red velvet cupcake. Can you really blame me? Mhm.

I had the utmost joy of entertaining Mr. Dreamy McBoyfriend for the past week, which involved a lot of cooking on my part and a lot of sleeping in on his. Domesticity freaks me out, but my short-lived attempt was fruitful! I successfully made 6 quality dinners and did not food poison either of us. I don't intend of making a career out of being a Martha, but playing house can be an interesting change of scenery. Veeeeery interesting.

As far as careers go, though, boyfriend and I did a fun li'l' career quiz a few days ago. Tow truck driver? Airline customer service representative? Am I not going to university right now? It's not that these aren't respectable jobs, but that's the things, friends, those are jobs. Right now? I have a job. And by job, I really mean low-wage voluntary slavery.

I'm back to school tomorrow. I bought a toaster. I have a new found love for white mocha. I attempted to cut my own bangs and made then too short. This is my tiny life.

I attempted post-Christmas sale shopping today, and it suddenly occurred to me that I have little to no fashion sense for myself.

Finally, I dropped other-half off at l'aerogare tonight, which is always an emo-roller coaster. When I got home to my empty, quiet little house, there was $1.78 sitting on top of my printer from boyfriend's pockets, because he doesn't like to have change in them when he goes through security. I had to laugh at this, because it was like he had left me a tip. $1.78 is the kind of tip I'd leave a waitress if I suspected she'd spit in my food.

Happy holidays, y'all.