toilet seat covers
I started training for my new job today and... WHOA. The bathrooms have toilet seat covers.
Ever since moving here, that has been a little joke in my family, you know you're out of Oklahoma when you start to see toilet seat covers in the restrooms, har har. You would think that they aren't even sold in the state. But here I was, very much in Oklahoma, sitting to take a piss on a toilet seat with a cover. *heaven*
I usually just use long strips of toilet paper, and while toilet seat covers aren't inherently easier (you have to tear the hole out, which, if not done with precision, may render you a shredded and unusable cover), it is certainly a (small) reflection on the establishment's level of class.
Well, this place is classy. The bathrooms are CLEAN. Really clean. Everyone is very nice. I may never engage with a co-worker in conversation about the evils of the conservative right's agenda, the latest hopeful comedy on television (such as Dog Bites Man), or the merits of classic French film, but they are nice well-intentioned people.
Speaking of.... I got some real klassy magazines in the mail a couple days ago. I received the June and July issues of this bastion of literary excellence, of scholarly enlightenment. I have no clue as to the why or the how, but you just don't question these things. Say it's kismet, move on and enjoy the odd and wondrous little gifts that life allows you.
The latest features award-winning "actress" Tera Patrick on the cover. My brother and I had been in a store mocking said cover the night before it arrived in the mailbox. It stood out from the rest on the display wall, the ridiculousness of the size of her chest, and the absurd placement of her nipples, waaaaay up there. My brother said that, on me, they'd be up to my neck. Which is a rather odd conversation to have with one's brother.
Jenny McCarthy modeled for June's cover. She looked more than slightly, shall we say, enhanced. Her tits had been airbushed out and then painted back on, the end result looking much like something of a hyper-realistic sexy video game character.
I read (or skimmed) both issues and nearly had a seizure. All the colors, the disorganized columns and text boxes, so much crammed onto each page. I honestly had a headache when I was through.
If I ever become involved with a guy, only to later learn that he literally reads FHM, I will not hesitate kick him to the curb. God did not create these so that they might be read, you dolt. Wank off to the (cheap, airbrushed) pictures, wipe the goo off of Tera's tummy, throw it back onto the pile under your bed and leave it at that.
Ever since moving here, that has been a little joke in my family, you know you're out of Oklahoma when you start to see toilet seat covers in the restrooms, har har. You would think that they aren't even sold in the state. But here I was, very much in Oklahoma, sitting to take a piss on a toilet seat with a cover. *heaven*
I usually just use long strips of toilet paper, and while toilet seat covers aren't inherently easier (you have to tear the hole out, which, if not done with precision, may render you a shredded and unusable cover), it is certainly a (small) reflection on the establishment's level of class.
Well, this place is classy. The bathrooms are CLEAN. Really clean. Everyone is very nice. I may never engage with a co-worker in conversation about the evils of the conservative right's agenda, the latest hopeful comedy on television (such as Dog Bites Man), or the merits of classic French film, but they are nice well-intentioned people.
Speaking of.... I got some real klassy magazines in the mail a couple days ago. I received the June and July issues of this bastion of literary excellence, of scholarly enlightenment. I have no clue as to the why or the how, but you just don't question these things. Say it's kismet, move on and enjoy the odd and wondrous little gifts that life allows you.
The latest features award-winning "actress" Tera Patrick on the cover. My brother and I had been in a store mocking said cover the night before it arrived in the mailbox. It stood out from the rest on the display wall, the ridiculousness of the size of her chest, and the absurd placement of her nipples, waaaaay up there. My brother said that, on me, they'd be up to my neck. Which is a rather odd conversation to have with one's brother.
Jenny McCarthy modeled for June's cover. She looked more than slightly, shall we say, enhanced. Her tits had been airbushed out and then painted back on, the end result looking much like something of a hyper-realistic sexy video game character.
I read (or skimmed) both issues and nearly had a seizure. All the colors, the disorganized columns and text boxes, so much crammed onto each page. I honestly had a headache when I was through.
If I ever become involved with a guy, only to later learn that he literally reads FHM, I will not hesitate kick him to the curb. God did not create these so that they might be read, you dolt. Wank off to the (cheap, airbrushed) pictures, wipe the goo off of Tera's tummy, throw it back onto the pile under your bed and leave it at that.
posted by lauren at 5:47 PM
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