These are just so riveting.

Except not.

So first we had the really amazing bathrooms at my former place of employment where you couldn’t see people’s feet & therefore not be able to properly detect who had the asparagus or coffee pee that morning.  Those bathrooms were all about preserving dignity.

Then there were Tall Girl Problems in Nashville.

I have to admit that with the peanut M&Ms in the breakroom & the chef-designed lunches in our cafes, not to mention the miles of running trails & on-campus gym, I was a little disappointed in the state of these bathrooms.  They’re basic & I half-way expected the toilet to do the work for me.

Here’s an overview of what we’re working with:

Unfortunately, you can see feet.  & there is space between the door & stalls so I can totally see what color pants you’re wearing or if you’re playing on your iPhone.

The toilet paper is the most fascinating, as it comes out like a tissue.  I’m guessing this is an effort to produce less waste?

Here’s to another day of me being the office weirdo that takes pictures of bathrooms.

This fantastic lady is pretty-fying my feet & she’s all, “Do you run?”

I’m thinking, is she drunk?

I say, “Only if there’s a Krispy Kreme in front of me.”

& she’s all, “No, you have runner’s feet based on the calluses & your calves have great muscle tone.”

“I pass a lot of Krispy Kremes,” I explain.

& then Instagram was all “WHERE DID YOU GET THAT DRESS?” so I thought I’d let you in on a dirty little secret:

dress:  JC Penney’s, $45 (& that was full price!)
necklace: Banana Republic outlet
shoes: mint green pumps, J. Crew

These heels might be some of my favorites & they were a steal for $20 at a J. Crew warehouse sale back in 2010 & it was pretty Shining-worthy of me to predict how trendy mint would become.  The unfortunate part is that they are a) hella uncomfortable for long periods of time & b) likely to get stuck in the slats of a wood deck during a baby shower while I’m holding a mimosa.

Total wear-with-caution label needed.

In the kitchen this morning, Tuck was finishing her (second!  damn dog for acting like I hadn’t fed her!) breakfast & Harrison walks over to her, points & says “Tuck!  Poop!”

Except when he says “Tuck” it sounds like “touch” & it’s really darling.

So I asked him if he needed to poop & he shakes his head no & says, “Tuck, poop!”

So I shrug & ask him if Tuck needs to poop & he says, “Yes.  Tuck, poop please!”

Maybe it’s one of those things where you had to be there to find it roll-on-the-ground funny, but I was still laughing two hours later.

So I got my hands on a iBooks copy & settled down into Chapter 1.

An hour later, I woke up my husband for sex.

Since then I have finished all three books & perhaps coincidentally, Doug has taken to bringing me flowers & wine in the evenings.

 The writing leaves a lot to be desired, there are blatant grammatical errors, & it feels a little wrong that this chick is making cash money off twisting Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight characters into literary porn stars.  I felt incredibly naughty reading it & not in the naughty minx way but in the oh shit, I am so glad nobody can see me reading this.  On the airplane the other day, I felt like whispering to the gal three rows in front that while everyone else on the plane thought she may have been reading a thriller mystery based on the black & white tie cover, I knew she was reading about some mealy-mouthed chick being tied to a table.

In short?  OH. MY.  ::fans self with tulips::

p.s. I’m not an artist.
p.p.s. I had way too much fun making bedhead & “highlights” in my hair.

2)  Make a pony tail.  Make it high & dance to Girls Just Wanna Have  Fun or Love Is A Battlefield.  Take your pick.

3)  Pour a glass of wine.

4)  Spend thirty minutes attempting to roll your hair into the donut, starting at the tip of your hair & working towards your scalp.  Curse a lot.

5)  Take a shot of vodka.

6)  Half-drunk, finally get the bun rolled.  Secure it with bobby pins.

7)  Mother-effing win.

2)  I lock myself in the bedroom/office & he physically attempts to beat down the door to get to me.  Wails of torture from both parties ensue.

3)  He uses intimidation & manipulation to prey on my weakness, all in hopes of getting me to open the door for a direct attack.  This includes cries of “MOMMA!” & shoving Matchbox cars under the door.

4)  Out of food & toilet paper, I must make the decision – open the door for a run to the kitchen & risk being spotted, or wither without supplies for the rest of the day?

5)  Should I open the door, any moment could be the end of my existance workday.

ahhhhh, he got me!

That goes under the blog “Lazy Girl Problems.”

That’s Morgan in one of the thousands of bathrooms at the Opryland Hotel in Nashville.  She’s not paying attention to me because a) she’s known me for 3 years & expects weird behavior or b) she’s also a blogger & understands weird behavior.

Huge bathroom, right?  Plenty o’ stalls but I still had beef with them.  See, Morgan is a short gal by tall girl standards & her head hits the top of the stall door.  This was my view:

Nope, I’m not standing on my toes.

It created an awkward moment or five after I used the facilities & had to scoot my shapewear back up over my rear.  & by “scoot,” I mean wiggled back & forth in a chicken dance until I was out of breath & my underwear was shoved up my ass, but my shapewear was on & up under my boobs so I just called it a success.  A panting, sweaty success.

That everyone got to witness as the top of my head bobbed around over the door & I looked like a drunk fish on the line.

Trout, anyone?