A dramatization about privacy and why everyone should feel shame:

Me: Tra-la-la, I'm going about my day in the world! I can't wait to interact with my fellow human beings. People are mostly good!

Random man: Hello, kindly lady. I look completely normal, and thus you have not run away from me. Also, I can't seem to find the restrooms. You seem like you know a lot about the world, including this store where you clearly do not work. Maybe you can tell me where they are?

Me: Yes, I certainly can! I love helping people! They are over there! Good-bye, stranger.

Random man: Thank you. Boy, I should really stop drinking coffee. Goes right through me. Ha ha! That's not at all inappropriate for me to share with you! I enjoy talking about my bodily functions, don't you? I'm standing dangerously close to you, considering I am talking about human waste and you are a total stranger.

Me: AHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I have run away from you! You do not adhere to social norms! I'm normally okay with that but you are taking it to the next level! Gross!

Let this be a lesson to you. I do not want to hear about what you do in the bathroom, especially after I have been so informative and helpful.

This logic can also be applied to topics such as illnesses involving any kind of projectile anything, sticky things you discovered by accident with your hand, smells, your teeth, food that may or may not have been a pet at one point, and mucus of any kind.

You have been duly noted, strangers.

Also, Happy Halloween!

(note: the holiday and this post are not necessarily related. I just don't like knowing more than necessary {i.e. nothing} about your urine. But I like Halloween. And candy!)

But there aren't any mints on the pillows.

So, okay, it's been awhile...AGAIN.

I'm sorry.

What can I say? One day you are writing a blog, rambling on about who knows what, and the next thing you know summer is over and it's been at least two months since you even thought about writing anything.

Well, that's not entirely true. I have written several carefully planned text messages. My English professors would be so proud.

But, I've been keeping busy. Remember a few months back when I was considering creating a guest room out of the sad little pile of rubble we (read: me) had accumulated over the years? Well, guess what? I actually started doing that. And then finished! I know. I'm shocked too. Where will I keep all my outdated mail and clothes from 1997?

But, before I show you the results of our labor, it's probably a good idea to show you where we began. I'm not 100% positive it's a great idea to let you see my weird world of mini-hoarding, but when has bad judgement ever stopped me before, right?

Behold, the result of sloth:

You know what's sad? These pictures were actually taken after we had been cleaning for about 20 minutes. Please, don't think about it. I still want you to like me after all this is said and done. Oh, and also, if you happen to see something you gave us hidden within these mountains of shame, don't be offended. I tend to my piles of shit much like a gardener waters a flower bed. These babies received plenty of love and devotion before I slaughtered them like lambs. And, truth be told, if you were to check my closets you'd know that many of them survive to this day. Don't tell Brian.

Enough of that. On to the part wherein I appear totally awesome, design-savvy, and organized.

When I started designing this room in my head, I pictured somewhere really bright and calming, but with a sense of fun and youthfulness. I may have a pharmacy next to my bed and a specialist for everything, but I'm not a senior citizen just yet. Which is why I decided to rock out at Lowe's and pick out some paint and light fixtures. BECAUSE I'M WILD.

Anyway...The mythical guest room, three years in the making:

So there it is. I'm pretty pleased with the results. I feel like Martha Stewart. But, you know, without the prison record or the reputation as a total crazy pants lunatic.

Hm. Well. I haven't been to prison, anyway. If that's not a ringing endorsement to come for a visit, then I don't know what is.