Kamran and I try not to do gross couple-y things around our friends, but it’s kind of hilarious that this is how people think of us:
Tag Archives: too much information
The Impression That I Give
Filed under creepy boyfriend obsession, too much information
Tagged as creepy boyfriend obsession, too much information
Tagged as creepy boyfriend obsession, too much information
The Private Lives of City Dwellers
Filed under creepy boyfriend obsession, too much information
Tagged as creepy boyfriend obsession, too much information
Tagged as creepy boyfriend obsession, too much information
Kamran is officially finished with law school and the bar exam! Now he has great plans for his free time:
I’m not sure you want to know the story behind that.
But obviously I’m going to tell the first person who asks in the comments.
I Always Want to Be Looked at, Except When I Don’t
Sometimes when I’m in the elevator up to Kamran’s apartment, I’ll dig around in my bag for my keys for so long without finding them that I’ll start to believe everyone’s noticing it, and it becomes embarrassing for me to the point that I’ll pull something else entirely unrelated out with an expression of triumph like, “Ah-ha! Found what I was looking for all along, you guys!”
And it’ll end up being, like, my checkbook. Or a baggie of ice, because yes, I steal ice from my workplace. I somehow believe this is better than continuing to dig.
When I Was Young in the Mountains: Ett Family Outhouse Edition
Filed under no i really do love ohio, too much information
Tagged as no i really do love ohio, too much information
Tagged as no i really do love ohio, too much information
When I was growing up in Ohio, our little farmhouse had an outhouse. We didn’t use it, of course, but we would paint it when it started chipping, knock the wasp’s nests off of it when they began to show up in the summers, and peer curiously into its butt-size seat hole when we’d use it for concealment in games of Hide & Seek.
My mom used to tell my sister and me about the days just after she and my dad got married in the 70s, before they built a bathroom onto our house. The two of them actually did use the outhouse as if it was a normal toilet back then and would just drive up the road to my grandparents’ house to shower every morning. Sometimes when my mom would have a hard time pushing her poop out–and I can tell you this because she’s dead now and likely won’t be able to do anything about it–my dad would bring a glass of hot water or milk to the outhouse in the middle of the night to help her out.
Can you imagine this? It’s the dead of winter, the ground is covered in snow, and you have to trek out across the yard in your parka to get to the bathroom. And once you’re there, you have to sit in this unheated little wooden room, shivering and still half-asleep.
AMAZING! And, you know, my parents only did it for a year, I think, which is crazy enough. But I wondered to myself today: who lived in our farmhouse before us, and what the hell were they doing without a bathroom?
No Man Can Resist a Lady Who Looks Good in a Sportsbra
If I was ever looking for someone convenient to cheat on Kamran with, it’d be with this neighbor of his I see in the mornings when I come upstairs from the gym in their building’s basement. I don’t think the guy is particularly good-looking–too tall, too gangly, too bowl-haircutted–but he interests me, because every time I see him, he’s shuffling down the hallway at the slowest speed possible. He’s always wearing different colors of plaid flannel pajama pants, a coordinating t-shirt, padded slippers, and wired-rimmed glasses. He carries a book with the cover folded back so he can hold it in one hand and read while he saunters along.
I always see him from behind and then from the side as he turns the corner next to Kamran’s apartment, but earlier this week, I happened to come up from the gym a minute early, and he was just passing by the elevator. He hung back so I could go ahead, and I looked toward him and closed-mouth smiled, but I don’t wear my contacts or glasses to the gym, so I had no idea if he was smiling back or thinking about how happy he is not to be the one who has to touch my sweating, stinking body.
P.S. If you want to receive my posts via e-mail, you can now sign up here and never have to visit my blog again.
