I'm just wondering if it makes me a jerk that I think people sharing a bathroom should masturbate in their own bedrooms? Masturbation is lovely but that's a bit too personal. Aside from the cleanliness issue there's my weird issues with sexuality and the "what are you doing in there/tmi" thing. I feel like a jerk for sort of pushing that point today because I feel like I should be "cooler" than that but I'm just not. Supposedly it's understood and it's fine but I still feel like a cock-blocking on-leading lesbian tease/whore.
I can't help thinking of all the girls with sugar-doused souls who would be cooler with this stuff than I am. I mean it's working out, but I just can't help thinking that any given one of them would be "better" than me for not having issues with things.
WHY is it that I manage to be writing such fucked up sexual stories yet I can't even DEAL WITH THINGS in real life? It makes me crazy.
At least we're here. I made us mac and cheese for dinner (from a box but still) with a shit ton of butter and it turned out really frickin good. I haven't made it on a stove and actually used milk and butter in years so it was pretty awesome. As he said, just the right temperature to shovel it into your mouth without risk of burning. Even if it was something simple I sang some fragmented musical numbers while I was cooking and I looked like a frickin housewife, and then I served dinner from the pot. It was kind of cheesy how housewifey I looked.
The moving in part is taking forever. There are still boxes places and my desk/chest of drawers won't be here until next week so a lot of things have to stay in their boxes until things are okay.
We actually tested the acoustics of my vibrators earlier, basically turning one on and having him go into his room to see if he heard anything. He kept insisting he didn't but I was really self-conscious thinking "OH MY GOD HE HEARS IT OH EM GEE."
Speaking of vibrators, when my mom was cleaning out my chest of drawers she found the package for my first vibrator (the lawn mower) with the price sticker still on it. She started laughing and told my dad she found the case for my old dildo. I explained to her that it wasn't a dildo, it was a vibrator, but it's all the same to her. It's NOT THE SAME dangit. Usually dildos don't vibrate and if they do it's with a little bullet you stick in a little hole in the bottom that probably doesn't do jack shit. And usually dildos are bigger than this clitoris assailant that met its fate with leaky batteries that made it go off on its own in the bathroom a few times until it just completely croaked. My mom asked me where I got $13.95 for the thing...and I explained to her that uhm...first off I worked in high school a bit and second of all I was always being given money when I went out and nobody needed to know I bought a vibrator after we got our way-too-greasy fake Chinese food on the booths that squeaked.
Anyway yeah way too long of a story to explain a fairly simple event.
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Not to sound like a broken record here, but get used to living with a guy it will only get worse, and yes I am sure thing will get worse and you will soon understand why 95% of women would never have a male roommate unless he's admittedly gay, or they're lovers. I believe there's some one sidedness on the latter, and you do know what I mean.
I thought only Abby's mom would discuss her daughter's sex toys with her husband.
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