Ummm… WTF?!?!

REALLY?! Yes, I know I’m a little late on this news, but condoms, lube and sex toys to advertise your douchebaggery and asshattedness? Honestly? ::shudder::

I mean, I know if a guy I wanted to sleep with pulled out one of these during sex, I’d start laughing so hard at him and would get up and leave.

What about Ed Hardy is even remotely sexy or desirable? When I think of the line I immediately think of the douches who live on the Orange Line – the Chads and Trixies – who I wouldn’t want to be sharing space with in a bar, much less closer accommodations. Or worse, that über-douche Jon Gosselin – those pictures of him and that coked out ex-girlfriend of his… again, not even REMOTELY desirable or sexy.

Okay, I think I just made myself a little sick there. Done. Let’s suffice it to say Ed Hardy sex products = not sexy. Not even a little bit. Save your money (because you know that shit’s gonna cost a pretty penny and probably not even have the same success rate) and go with a trusted name. You’ll be happier.

The doctor is in?

When I took this job, I really didn’t know how much of it would be listening to people’s problems. Not that that is a bad thing, necessarily, I just didn’t think I’d have to listen to problems most people wouldn’t tell a stranger. Or at least things I wouldn’t tell a stranger – or a person in a store that I sorta know, but not really.

I mean, I can’t even sort out my own problems and strangers want to tell me theirs and ask for advice? Weird. Hell, I only give actual advice to friends that I know well – and only if they ask. Opinions, hell yes, I’ll give those to strangers, but advice? Nope.

I shouldn’t be surprised in this age of oversharing – I mean, yes, I do my own fair share of it here and on my Twitter (—> hell, I share that on here too, though it’s not all that exciting lately), but I do it semi-anonymously, at least. When I’m face to face with someone, unless they’re a friend, I feel really uncomfortable when they start telling me about their marital issues… or about their spouses (live or dead)… or about health issues… and lately, I’ve had tons of people come in and do just that. I’m beginning to think that there’s a sign somewhere in the DC area saying “hey, if you have a problem/issue, go to ____ and talk to _____. She’ll listen.”

Today’s woman came in around 1:30ish and stayed till I closed (and then some – since she was in the class I was teaching that night)… 6.5 hours… There were tears, there was oversharing, there were icky bare feet on a table (a pet peeve of mine, in public at least – I don’t care what you do at home, hell, I put my feet on my coffee table all the damn time, but in public?)…

Perhaps I should just hang a shingle out on the door and start advertising “PSYCHIATRIC HELP, $20. THE DOCTOR IS IN.” (I figure that with inflation, $20 is equivalent to Lucy’s 5¢, right?)

Violated

You know, this thing about blogging tends to give one the sense of anonymity – even if most of their readers know exactly who they are.  Which is exactly how I feel about it all.  I could always be honest with everyone, while protecting the identities of people that I was talking about, for the most part.  When I moved this blog here, I made it a point to not connect it to me (except on Facebook, BIG mistake) so it wouldn’t come up under searches for me on Google, which has worked like a charm so far… Until yesterday.

Yesterday I got a call telling me that my blog was passed to someone as a way to discredit/hurt another person/people.  (I say “hurt” because that’s the only reason I can think of for someone to do that.  The person passing my blog along I’m sure was referring to a few of my posts about boys.)  I know that I had a huge spike on my blog from the information passed, 88 hits, to be exact.  While I know I did nothing wrong in writing about MY LIFE here, I hate that my blog is being dragged into this.  And for the person to pass the information along the way they did was just cowardly.  If you have a beef with me or my actions, take it up with me, dammit.  Do NOT violate my privacy (and regardless of the fact that this is on the “interwebz, ” this is still my life and my blog).

So, I’ve unlinked the blog from my Facebook page, which really doesn’t make a damn bit of difference, except to make me feel better, because if the passer and the reader were smart, they bookmarked it.  Hooray for new readers, I suppose?  This won’t stop me from blogging about all aspects of my life, however, it might make me lock down certain posts with password protection from here on out.  (When you see a password protected post, just email me and I’ll let you have the password… if I know you and like you.  If I don’t know you or like you, no dice.  This is my sandbox and my toys, dammit.)

Overheard at the nail salon earlier

“We’re just too old to have any more kids. I mean, I’m 32 and my husband’s 31. We’re just too old.”

Is it wrong that I wanted to ruin my fresh manicure by smacking her? When did 32 become “old”? Especially too old to have kids? Traditionally, 35 is considered on the “aged” side for a pregnancy, especially a first one. (Believe me, I know, I hear it from my gynecologist every year. Granted, she also tells me that if I ever change my mind about kids that she’ll get me knocked up no matter how old I am, lol.) Maybe I’m a bit sensitive, since I know I can’t have kids without a lot of help – that might be a reason why I’m okay with not having any – but I thought it was incredibly insensitive and rude of her to say that at her loudest speaking voice, not caring that others could hear every word she said.

The other woman in the salon at the time ended up exchanging “WTF” looks and ignored her – which wasn’t easy, but I crocheted and watched “Days of Our Lives” as if my life depended on it, just so I wouldn’t say a thing.