Prom Night 2006

So, WOW. I got a little glimpse at the future last night and FUCK, did it look bleak.

First, I chaperoned the Prom. Only had to send three kids home for bringing alcohol or coming drunk (this constitutes about 8% of them, so that's excellent). But I was a good girl and went with E2 (E's husband) to the bar, but did not have a fucking sip until post-Prom. I even went to hide in the parking lot when I wanted to smoke. Go me!!

I sucked down about 12 helium balloons during cleanup though cause my voice is AWESOME when it's really high. We got Japan to do it too...that's basically what every anime sounds like to me. It's okay, she was trashed at that point.

There were plenty of girls this time (our school is mostly boys), but somehow the fellas never manage to NOT hump the teachers inappropriately. And I was wearing a dress with cherries on it so one of the lackies that we kicked out had to go to the "Can I pop your cherry?" place. Really, it was a sick night of testosterone that I thought would come to an end when they all left. But I was so wrong.

We went to a bar afterwards. It was me, 31, E, E2, D, K, A&F, his buddy, and Japan. 31 and I got there late and talked with a delightful couple and their Australian friend outside while we had a couple of cigarettes. I was very pro-Australian guy (we'll call him Chris, cause I just remembered that was his name), and I wanted 31 to fuck him, but as you will see, things went differently.

So, D comes out and has a smoke with us and tells us he ordered shots so we have to go in. We all pile around these tables (the place is really a bit of a hole) and start drinking. I swear to GOD, if I have to talk about Jesus one more time that night, I am going to breakout in stigmata myself. I try to ignore K and Mark (A&F's friend) who are doing just that, but I am bored out of my mind!! Second round of shots and we decide that Japan is fucking Mark, no take-backs.

I lay $10 down for Japan if she fucks him, 31 (ritzy gal that she is) throws down another 20 beans, and I put up ten more if it doesn't happen in the bed. A&F was supposed to be there too, so challenge!! We try and show Japan how to slut it up a bit, touch him, act interested. She likes American guys and her last man was a L.O.S.E.R. She says what we told her was too obvious; I pointed out that you can't catch a hamburger with a fishing net. Point taken, though she still wasn't as forward as she could have been.

We go out for a smoke and Chris is sloshed and sitting very close to me and telling me about Australia. I tell him I knew someone from Adelaide. He tells me he was born there. The couple are having a fight because Guy told Chris that he would hella cheat on Girl with Kylie Minogue. She is livid, and not playful livid, but livid-livid. I think about taking Chris home. But I am a good girl so I say that "my boyfriend would never cheat on me" and he catches it. Le sigh. Still some superficial flirting, but definitely with much less intensity.

So, we order another round. I have to wee, and by the way, ladies, the poster in the bathroom told me that a virus causes cervical cancer (it also told me to tell someone...I told everyone). I get three sips into my vodka tonic and we get kicked out by the 34 year-old bar tender. I know his age cause he likes 31 ALOT and wanted to know how old she was, gave her several business cards, etc. He will SO never win that, slutty as she is.

I know you think the night is over, but nope. It's 2AM at this point and we decide to take it over to 31's place down the street and drink D's $60 bottle of Tequila. I want to take Chris for Anna, but he's drunk and the bickering couple take him with them. I recruit BlueHoodie (who was sort of cute when we first came in) for 31 and wait until I tell you this: She ain't called 31 for nothing. She's fucked him before!! Seven times in his parent's house and then snuck out without shoes in the morning so as not to be seen. And she forget him until he said, "I've met 31 before." Total slut that I love.

BlueHoodie's name is Mike and he was the biggest retard I have EVER met. But before I go there, we all break up into groups and get in our cars. I am so wretchedly undrunk at this point, it makes me want to cry. I tell A&F that he's driving with me cause I want to give Japan and Mark a chance to be alone; A&F, in his drunk state asks, "So, are we gonna hook up tonight?" I thought that was hilarious. He's a beautiful boy, but really not my type and also my colleague. That would be wrong, wouldn't it 31? I was like, "Yeah, A&F, we're gonna hook up. You can be my date for tonight."

So, we're on our way to 31's place (a place I know far too well...actually, a place I know the bathroom floor far too well) but we have to park really far away. This is okay for A&F cause he runs marathons. We find her apartment and Mike's already there, Mark and Japan too, D comes later (sans K), and E/E2 go home cause E's tired. She doesn't drink. Pity. Her man does though and he's loads of fun. I feel bad for E most nights, but then I remember that she's the one who can see all of us objectively and judge us. Grin.

Okay, we all have beers; we're all getting comfy. D comes with his Tequilla and Mike (or StonerMike as he will henceforth be referred) busts out this vile of weed and loads up the bong. I hope my students never find this, but you may have guessed by now, that I smoke from time to time (the relative space between those times is unimportant) but Stoner Mike hits it, then Mark, then A&F, Japan, and I clean her up. One clean-up hit, okay? Remember that. D hits it two or three times and makes StonerMike take Tequilla shots with him. I give D the red-hot-negative on that.

We sit around and shoot the shit. Things are awkward. There are far too many fucked-up people who either don't know each other at all, or know each other too well. There is way too much sexual chemistry around and I am starting to get that feeling I used to get when I was a teenager where I wanted to be anywhere but here because at any second, someone is going to say something, or do something, and a massive hippy orgy is going to start. I am SO not onboard. I had breifly considered Chris but I was NOT signed up for this. Not at all.

We chat. In our heads, we pair people off. 31 and StonerMike, Japan and Mark, me and A&F (my head says DENY), but then what with D? Reorganize. 31 and I start fucking with each other, D tells us to be nice, and A&F goes to the "Are you going to kiss?" place. MAXIMUM VETO. This is the spark. Shit, shit. Mayday! Put it out. 31 asks, "Who? Me and D? Me and lola? All three of us?" I'm like, NO! NO! That's fuel, you idiot! A&F is like, "You and lola."

I have to step in here cause I know where these things go and I am not trying to have the most awkward last year of my life at my job, "No, that's cool." 31 is on my team. She was just fucking around. There is the most awkward horrible silence of all. We're all embarrassed. Even StonerMike who should be the MOST embarassed cause he's fucktarded. (He was trying to teach Japan what "stoked" means by saying, "You know, stooooooked, stooooooked, man. I'm stooooked." What an idiot!)

Music is put on and it turns out that Mark really liked the Lilith Fair bands. He tells us that You Learn was a GREAT Alanis song, and then starts singing it. I try not to be a bitch. It isn't working because I am all of a sudden MASSIVELY stoned. I worry about going home like that. I put my beer down and I get a call from B. I tell him I might spend the night; saying it out loud made me go, "FUCK, I don't want to do that."

Lemme just end this by saying, A&F passed out, D was in a coma (they said I shouldn't worry but he was colorless, white white lips and hands, lying in the middle of the floor with his arms crossed on his chest and looking like death), Japan fell asleep against a chair, I ran away to the bedroom with 31 to gossip, StonerMike followed us. 31 said she might have to fuck him but would rather have had A&F or Mark instead (but she couldn't do that to Japan). I did not want to be part of the bedtime sandwich so I fled. Tried to give her an out with a morning meeting, but the idiot wasn't picking up what I was dropping, so I peaced it.

Mark and Japan were up talking when I left. I had to walk the quarter mile back to my car (I measured because I was terrified) alone in the dark at 4AM, but it seemed the better alternative than succumbing to the questionable activites that were to ensue. I still haven't gotten the post-Prom lowdown yet, but when I left, 31 and StonerMike were alone in a dark bedroom and the pickings were ripe for Japan and Mark.

I imagined every possible danger on my way to the car and drove home in a fun house mirror, promising myself I will never think of sleeping at 31's house as an option again. I love you girl, but I am NOT the swinging type. Grin.

Thus ends PromNight 2K6!

Painful Truth

I have decided its the best explanation: Pain will make you honest.

I can't always say what I want. It's twofold, threefold maybe. I don't know what I want, don't know what I mean. I do know what I want, do know what I mean, but can't ask for it. I do know what I want, do know what I mean, but won't ask for it.

Some pain is ceremonial. It's cleansing. It completes; it documents. That pain is the most superficial. Pain as observance, as sacrament. That pain is the most beautiful.

Some pain is cathartic; it is a release. Textbook in its prognosis. It happens during, or at the end. It is for recovery and balance. It is not beautiful, but consistant and predictable, reliable.

Some pain is manifestation. I need this on the outside; I need this for the inside. I need to see. This pain is not beautiful, but rabid and sudden. This is the gouge in my skin. This is the compulsive scratching until I can see blood, tissue under my nails, a slick layer of platelets glistening along the surface, swelling. This pain is wet breaths and gritted teeth. This pain is not hidden, but it can be explained. This pain is short-lived, but this pain will make you honest.

Ask me then and I can say.

I am alone. I will always be alone. That is the truth.

Drugs are bad. Don't do drugs.

That's what I tell the children. (That, and "Do as I say, not as I do.")

There has been an epidemic of drug-doing cropping up at my school. Now, to be fair, they're not ALL doing drugs. Some are just talking about doing drugs, or researching them. And some are trying to grow their own.

They are so terribly uneducated.

Let's see. How to tell these stories anonymously? Okay, so there's this one kid, we'll call him Justin. He has this whore-sister (who dated another student of mine, Kramey for a while) who has sort of facilitated him selling the crappest schwag to elementary school kids (not at my school). When probed, he said that he sold oregano to them (from Cost Plus...an excellent liar) and had made $140 so far, that the money was too good to stop selling. I pointed out that he wasn't going to be getting any repeat business that way and shortly, his cash flow will dry the fuck up. He conceded the point.

Now, this kid comes up to me and tells me that another student in his grade, one SL, claimed to have $5000 worth of MJ in his closet. I know what you're thinking. But he is the fruit of a porn mogul's loins and wealthier than God, so the cash is entirely plausible. At 12, he toted the most top-of-the-line cellphone known to the public, and made sure we all knew it. But, he is a massive poser and this claim is a total lie. On 420, he came to school in his Versace shades and kept asking kids if his eyes were red. I don't doubt that he hit the bong that morning (and probably some techno-German uberbong, to boot), but it was most likely a hit of oregano. And every kid took one look at him, told him he was a douchebag, and walked away. Which is saying something since he's a bully, as well.

Anyway, this is what I hear. But I heard it from Justin, who also told me that he could get five pounds for a hundred bucks. Now, I know I'm the teacher here and a role model (you asking yourself yet why they tell me all the criminal/questionable/fucktarded things they do?), but I had to stop him right there and say that that was a full out lie. In later discussions with 31, we determined that you couldn't get five pounds of chicken for a hundred bucks. I casually mention that average cost of an eighth in the region is 50 beans.

We later discover that he thought an eighth was "the metric version of a pound." Yes! It's a special school.

Anyway, how the fuck is this kid selling drugs when he couldn't price it to save his life? This other kid had the bright idea to cut his oregano with sugar and sell it to the elementary school kids as coke. It actually took us several minutes to explain what that was the stupidest thing we'd ever heard. (Justin was supposed to sell to that kid -- btw, if we ever need to go into lockdown, this kid'll be why; psy-cho! -- but then I pointed out the pot has a tendency to silence the little voices of reason in your head, and did he really want to be responsible for what happened when the little voices stopped telling that kid not to gun us all down in a fiery blaze of terror? Point was also conceded.)

What I miss? Oh, Justin is growing a plant in his bedroom. He was excited cause after three days he had a little sprout. His plan (and if you don't know anything about growing weed, just space out a little here) was to grow it till it was a foot high and then clip it off and give it to another kid to smoke. Flawless. I clapped. I couldn't help it.

We need some fucking drug education, people! And I think that I'm not the person to ask, but some one!!

Sadly, this is about a quarter of the stories. You get the picture. This is a tradgedy.

Fuckers 2

"So, sweety, what's the problem? GO GET LAID! You're a resourceful girl, get going."

Wouldn't it be nice if it were that easy, Meredith? If I could just get dressed up and go find some utilitarian lovin'? But alas, there are several good (and stupid) reasons why that is just impossible for now, and really, forever.

For the time being, I am shopping for new toys, kinko and otherwise. I want something that is sort of more realistically penisy and also vibratorish. I am looking for suggestions, ladies (and you saavy fellas). Links and pictures appreciated. Grin.

Fuckers

I assure you that I am not dead, just insanely overworked, underpaid, and stressed out. There are a lot of hectic, yet boring things going on. It's not worth explaining.


I will say that I am thinking about sex all the time. I'm like, compulsive about it. I can totally relate to all those fourteen year-old boys I have to stomach daily. They talk about it, think about it all the time. They hug me excessively, practice their lines, rub themselves on me, stare at my tits. It's unfortunate. They freak me out, the little hump monkeys.

One in particular, comes up daily to show me his drawings of red mages grabbing the ass of night wizards, or something equally nerd-porn-tastic. And in case you missed it, "Heh heh (grunt/snort/laugh), they're both female." He said "female." Really. Did you know that if he had 20 grand, he'd buy a big box of porn? Yeah. That one.

I got one drawing butts on paint in his freetime, one sculpting penises, one hugging me with hip-action, one smelling my hair and asking me to show him what it looks like in a ponytail, one poking me in the middle region at every pass... And sadly, I can relate.

I think about fucking all the time now. Not with them. This transistion went horribly wrong. I just empathize. Fucking. In the car, in my classroom, in the shower, in bed, while I'm changing. All I can think about is fucking. I have no outlet. It's maddening. Something will have to change. I want to fuck. Or I want to join a nunnery. Something.

BBL

I told myself I wasn't going to post any more depressing shit here. So, I'll see you guys later on. Hope you're all misbehaving. Grin.

Bye Bye SB2K6!!

SPRING BREAK 2K6!! is drawing to a close and I am so insanely depressed about it. I did nothing, but I was really liking it. I still have to put together a slide show for my class and decide how to present their last few assignments, sort of collate their work and think about if there is anything I can do for the auction. TBJ wants me to put together some sort of project from my class, but he has no idea how hard it is for me to get even yearbook posters from them. The idea of getting a piece of work that's auctionable (specifically, that doesn't have some sort of my-daddy-is-a-cunt-and-doesn't-love-me content or I-dig-furry-animae-breasts content) is unimaginable. I'm fucked.

Also, gonna get my contract this week. I've decided that less than $38000 means I'm walking. I just want to see how little he'll offer me. Part of me wants a chance to laugh in his face...part of me really wants to be validated and get my 40K. We'll see.

I'm gonna try and do something fun this weekend, like my comedy club outing last weekend. That was more excitement than I've had in a long time and I want to try to get a little more in before I'm back to that fucking asylum. Anyway, more interesting posts to come. Promise.

Old is New is Old

It seems an appropriate time to start having those thoughts again.
The sun is gone and the rain is thick
heavy fingers of wet pulling my hair and scratching my shoulders
jagged worming drops.
I sell my pride with vacant eyes.
My jaw is set but the cause is futile
(My jaw is not set as I think it is. I am slack in everything.)
because I want what was ill-conceived.
My nightmares are real and my windowledge is slick
My nightmares are slick and my windowledge is real
My nightmarewindowledge
jagged worming drops.
I wish
Shh
Wish for a blinding darkness
I wish shh shh shh -- but I get an iron halo. Slip slip.
Slipslip over and over my slickslick over
nightmarewindowledge.
Follow those jagged worming drops.

Closer to 30

I'm getting out of my house today. It should be a good time. I think we're going to see V for Vendetta and then popping into my student's house to have some birthday cake. It's his birthday...and mine soon, too. I'm gonna be 25.

I keep changing the 'oldest age in the entire world' standard. First, I thought it was 100, of course, but then I became sensible. There is nothing older than 22 because it's all downhill after 21. But, you see, it's really 25 that does it to you. I am closer to 30 than 20 everyday after my 25th birthday. And for now, I can't handle inching closer to 30. 30?!? Sweet MOTHER OF GOD! Where have I been?

Anyway, as I come to terms with it, I might as well eat cake. Especially if it isn't my own.

Ruiner

It is said that I ruin things.

I do. But not because I don't love you. It is because I don't love me.

I am sorry that you have attached yourself to someone who is so intrinsically self-loathing and self-destructive. I can't help you anymore than I can help myself. So you give a little. Or a lot. And I can't help but destroy it because I don't deserve it.

I don't need the kink, really. I can hurt myself enough for that. And I can hurt myself worse than you could ever hurt me. I can because I have. My world will tumble around me if I want. All I have to do...

is stop.



There's this part of the kink that people like me don't like to talk about. I have given up trying to sort myself into a class of kinkster or submissive. I think that its distracting to try and fit into a group that is on the outside already. I mean, in that I am not in any other kink. Not into foot fetishes or popping things, or the 1% or carrying. The kink is a group and that has been enough for me, for now.

It's not important what type I am because I know what I like. And I don't like ageplay. Typically. Enduringly. I don't want to be some Daddy's baby; I don't want baby talk or pigtails or cuddling after punishment.

Except, in a way, I do. Not all the time. But right now, I feel like the world's biggest disappointment. I was thinking just yesterday that there wasn't one person in my life that I didn't feel like I had disappointed, or that I am disappointing. Way back into my own unmanagable past. Parents, sibling, friends, coworkers, lovers, boyfriends, best friends, bosses, Dominants, other submissives. My good enough is not their good enough.

And right now, I feel it so deeply. I am sabotaging myself in order to try and please everyone. And its bullshit to say that you can only please yourself because that's not the way the world works. At least, not anymore. We're fucking national now, baby...global. What I do affects you and yours. I am beholden to you.

And I am fucking up. Badly.

And I am checking out. Everyday.

Just get through to the next cause maybe then I can make it up. It's a game of catch up everyday and I am losing. And here is where that whole ageplay comes in. I can feel it. You know what I think when I am overwelmed and anxious, stressed, angry? I think, "I want to go home."

I am at home. This is it. My life is my life but I want to be anywhere else. I want to go back to the simplicity of childhood. I don't want to be a big girl playing little girl, but sometimes I feel like a little girl playing big girl. I wasn't ready for this. But life don't wait for you to be ready. It's always pushing on like a fucking current.

And so when I fuck up, I don't want, "Worthless cunt. You can't do anything right." I don't want punishment that involves sexuality. Not like this. I don't want sexuality like this. I think that sexuality got me here. Satisifying that sexuality got me here. I don't want it at all. Denying it is easy for me. And when it doesn't work, it frustrates everyone.

I punished you, why are you still like this? Why are you still disobedient and resistant? Why are you doing this to yourself? Why are you doing this to me?

Ah. There. That's it. That's what I was waiting for. It's not me. It's you. That guilt crushes me; that guilt works, baby. But it adds and adds. One more I have to put on the list to make up for. Sometimes -- this time, I need something else.

Why are you doing this? You think it is little, but it is sabotaging everything. Talk to me. I still love you. I still want you. You're hurting yourself. You can't see it like you usually can, but you are.

I want the spanking. I want it so much, but I want more. I want reassurance and discussion; I want to be a little girl who can be forgiven. Big girls are spiteful and vindictive; there is intent. I can't take back intent. But what if I'm not a big girl all the time. Is that okay? Can you just say: Stop this. Right now. It's unacceptable and I won't allow it. I'm going to punish you and then we're going to talk about this. And if you apologize because you are sorry, then I will forgive you. You see, I know you. I know that you don't want to hurt me; you want to hurt yourself. But neither is acceptable.

I'm not allowed to hurt me. But the reaction for doing so has never been personal. No one has ever said, "You're cutting yourself to ruin this, aren't you? Why do you hate me?" But you see, I can't help it. I will hurt myself in some way because I have to sort out my frustration. I only found one way to do it without affecting anyone else. And that way is gone. But I have so much frustration over my constant failure. If I go back to my way, my cutting, I am disappointing. I am not committed enough to stop that for myself or anyone else.

I don't even have that anymore.

But I need something. And so I say the wrong things. I cut people out of my life. If they won't go, I do it for them. You see, rejection is powerful. But that's one more person who I can sort later. Or not.

I'm so fucking immature. It's fucked up of me to want to be punished and forgiven and cuddled. It's fucked up of me to ask someone else to see this. It's fucked up of me. I'm fucked up. And I don't see it ending any time soon. At least until the rest of my world is in ruins.

Better?

You ingrates. Grr.

Two Sides

HIS: You wake up in your room, your heart racing as you feel the hand pushing down on your mouth. You're pulled up, shadows and starlight as you're pushed through the open window, an arm around your waist as he lifts you, walking to the edge of the roof, his free hand on the edge as you both lightly drop under the tilted garage door, alone for a split second before you feel your hair pulled up, your body slammed forward across the hood, your panties pulled down, your ass, your pussy exposed.

His hand traces the back of your thigh, the curve, a pause, a sound like an approval, then your cunt filled. Your body jerking forward as his weight slams against your ass, your thighs bouncing against the hood as your whore throat betrays you, your moans filling the garage, mixing with the sound of his dick pounding you, fucking you, using you, his fist pushing down hard as your ass bucks. Your grunts join his, your cunt leaking down the inside of your thighs as your clit thrashes against the metal.

Your back arches as you're pushed onto your knees, the floor cold as his thick cock pushes, unasking past your lips and slides into your throat. He smiles as you gurgle, fucking your face, his body tensing, not needing to tell you to swallow, knowing you understand. He slams you against him and cums, hot, thick, feeling you swallow, watching as he spills out of your mouth and dribbles down your chin onto your tits.

He looks down at you, his breath steadying. He watches you clean him, never glancing up, knowing better. He lets you finish, holding your chin and tilting your head up. He kisses you on the forehead, his lips hot; he strokes your hair away from your flushed cheek. You watch as he walks out, your heartbeat the only sound.

................................................................................................

You wake up in your room, your heart racing as you feel the hand pushing down on your mouth....

HERS: But before he can pull me from my room, I have reached up, tightened my hand around his wrist and tugged him into my bed, pulling his body onto my own, his weight pressing heavy chest and hips on my thighs, my cunt waking up between those thighs, pressed tight together, hot and damp. I cover his mouth with my own, my eyes open wide in the night, my pupils large and focused on his face, sucking on his lip, opening my legs for him.

His hands are on my breasts, fingers digging into my soft flesh and I kiss him through a moan. I can feel his cock, hard intent along his thigh; I pull away from his mouth, narrowing my eyes at him. He is not happy, growls so softly, and leans up, grabs my shoulder roughly and turns me, my chest and shoulders pressed into the bed, my ass and thighs trapped under my nightgown, under his lap. I can feel him lean down and bite hard on my shoulder, daring me to cry out and wake the house. I whimper into my pillow, reaching back to dig into his thighs with a grunt.

His hand is on the back of my neck, curling around my spine, gripping the neckline of my gown and tearing it to my thighs. I squeeze him harder and he is down by my ear, voice so low but dripping; he says, "Let go of me, cunt. Don't ever touch me if you haven't been given permission."

I breathe hard, my cheeks flushing and turning to look at him. He pushes my face into the pillow, snagging my hair in his grip and holding tight, his other hand plunging between my wet thighs and prying my legs apart, sliding his knee between them. He opens his fly and shoves his jeans down his legs, cock delicious in the shadows. I want to lick, I want to taste, I want to swallow.

His weight is along my back, pressing my spine down, my grunts trickling beneath him. His lap is pressed dangerously against my ass and I can feel the silhouette of his cock, can feel his pulse in his veins, can hear his breath ragged and deliberate. His hands are rough, fingers sliding along my pussy lips and around my clit, quickly, clicking his tongue softly. I can hear his smile. He shoves his thick cock into my cunt before I can anticipate it, and my body swallows him, a gasp, louder than I hoped from my whore mouth.

And then his hand was there, holding and choking, his middle and fourth fingers in my mouth. I sucked them hard while he fucked my pretty cunt, soaking my bed in the dark. I felt his other hand beneath my belly, moving down to my swollen clit and rubbing across it mercifully. I groaned into the pillow and he spread my legs wider, so wide, moving both hands to my lower back and pinning me while his cock slammed into my cunt. His hips were jerking hard and his breath was louder. Just before it was too late, he slipped his cock out of my pussy and sprayed hot, sticky cum across my ass and back. I was twisting and shaking, could feel him dripping down my sides onto my torn nightgown.

He caught his breath, his hand was on my ass. He squeezed hard; I squealed and then his fingers slid up my back. I could feel him smeared across my skin.

"Next time, you won't touch, cunt," he said, getting off me and pulling his jeans up. I didn't move. I couldn't move. He leaned down, his face so close to mine, his lips brushing my mouth, "You aren't to clean up until you see the sun. Understand?"

On Laziness

Okay, so want to hear something about my day-to-day? I guess you would technically classify me as lazy. Or maybe, ridiculously lazy. I use my students as my own personal system of minions and serfs. Grin. Makes them good for something, anyway. But I guess, what I'm getting at is this issue I have been having with my bathroom plumbing.

You see, the toilet in the bathroom leaks. I have gone so far as to investigate the source of the leak. Turns out, the sealant around the tank pipe is just grubby and cracked. I need to get my manager up here to fix it because for the last six weeks, there has been a small puddle of water around my toilet. Now, here's where the lazy comes in.

You see, my kind of lazy is the lazy where the original source of lazy takes precedent over all lazy that would come forthwith. In short, even if it takes four times the effort to compensate for the original lazy, I will always stay with the source. This has manifested itself as the following:

Rather than clean up my house enough to keep me from being mortified when my manager comes in, request maintenence, and have the problem sorted, I have taken to completely removing my pants when I have to wee in my own house. You see, if I don't, the bottom of my jeans, or shorts, or what have you, get 100% soaked and unusable. Sometimes in odd splotches too. I'm okay with this since I learned it was fresh tank water all over my feet and not pee water.

Don't get me wrong. I've got a mop in there. I use it when the puddle starts creeping across the floor and toward my bathmat. God damn, I sound lazy. In writing, it really looks like I have a problem. Anyway, there is nothing like trying to have a pee in the middle of the night and yanking your pajama pants back up with icy cold and soggy wet ass and thighs.

Yes, I am committed.