I am becoming Liz Lemon

Following my previous incident in the workplace bathroom (which I maintain was not my fault, as the toilet was not working properly before I used it), I noticed a new janitor making the rounds on weekday mornings. I inquired, and he confirmed that the previous janitor had quit.

I feel bad. As much as I don't want to believe that my unflushed turd could affect a man's livelihood, the timing is hard to ignore.

And after all that, the night janitor tried to stop me from going into the women's washroom because she thought I was a man. It's been a bad month for janitor interactions.

I've embarrassed myself more than usual

I made friends with the janitor at work, and he started giving me free toilet paper to take home. The relationship consists of nods, waves, and the occasional gift of non-quilted, two-ply, office supply bathroom tissue. Bathroom-wise, I've been on top of the world.

Until this week. After finishing up my Monday morning toilet activities, I flushed and watched with panic as the water began to rise instead of draining. I exited the stall, looking for a plunger. Nothing. I tried flushing again; same result. There was nothing more I could do, so I washed my hands and fled the scene of the crime. "At least nobody will know it was me!" I thought to myself. I left the bathroom, and immediately ran into the janitor, who appeared to have been waiting for me to come out.

Now I don't know for sure that he knows it was me. All I know is he saw me coming out of the bathroom, after taking much longer than I should, and he possibly heard multiple flushes. He was then confronted with a befouled and non-functioning toilet.

I also know that I stopped receiving free toilet paper.

Pants!

A few weeks ago (several years after everyone else) I realized that I can buy new pants on Amazon. Given how much I hate shopping for clothes, this feels like a miracle. My new life starts now. And if I could go back in time, I would find myself from a decade ago: kneeling over two pairs of five dollar pants from the Salvation Army, trying to decide which one to cut apart into patches for the other one. “You won't have to live like this forever,” I’ll tell her.

So here I am, wearing my twenty dollar pants, which don’t fit at all. Whatever version of the inch they used, it’s huge. That’s ok! Amazon sells belts too.

technically a Millenial

I make an effort to keep up to date with technology, but only in an academic sense. Apparently, reading about the latest technology does not help me use a phone like a regular person. I frequently take pictures (usually "selfies") by mistake when I'm trying to do something else with my phone, and I routinely go through my photo folder to clear out the accidental pictures. It is not an exaggeration to say that I take more pictures by mistake than I do on purpose.

Today I took another selfie by mistake, while I was trying to delete a selfie that I took by mistake. I am a grandma with a cell phone.

Texts from my Ex

Jan. 26

“Butts”

Feb. 2

“BUTTS”

Feb. 14

“Happy Valentines Day. Look at my butte.” [link to photo of rock formation “butte”]

Last week:

“BUUUUTTTTS”

I don't even remember why we broke up. Tim, will you take me back?

I'm vaguely aware of him

LinkedIn: Do you know [the brother that I live with]?

me: Do you ever really know a person?

year end confessions

-I paid for, downloaded, and listened to a Pitbull song.

-last night I was out in the cold, and without any other option at the time, blew my nose in my mitten.

-one night when I couldn't sleep, I poured Nyquil over ice cream and ate it like a sundae.