~Hey! Are you reading this in a Reader? That’s cool… don’t want the man to see you being lazy, for sure. But do me a wee favor and click here, just for a second, if you don’t mind… *vague and mysterious ftw*~

Well, it finally happened.

I knew it was going to. I could have stopped it. I could have prevented it, if only I had taken a precious few seconds of my life to think before I acted.

Ok, wait. Let’s back it up. (Ha. That will be punny in a moment.)

Every once in a while, I have to pee. Consequently, I will, at times, use a restroom. Sometimes I even do it at work.

But, see, here’s the thing. I have this really bad efficient habit of, um, “getting ready” before I enter the stall. “Making preparations,” if you will.

Must’ve been all those years of Brownies.

(And by years, I mean one. One class. Brownies freaking blew.)

So, yeah, without fail, I begin the pulling-down-of-the-pants, or the pulling-up-of-the-skirt, before I am actually within in the confines of a specific cube of bathroom privacy.

Which means that anyone walking in said bathroom would unwillingly be privy to a sneak preview of my bathing suit area.

Given that this is A) a women’s restroom and B) a place of work, I’ll go out on a limb here and say that none of the potential viewers want a piece of that.

And I KNOW this. I think about it every time I go to the bathroom, and think,

“Damn! I did it again! Moron… one of these days it is gonna happen, and it’s not going to be pretty. Check yoself!”

But I still do it every. damn. time.

And yesterday, Wile E. Coyote finally caught the Road Runner.

Or something.

Basically, I mooned my boss.

I'm slightly better looking.

No, that’s not accurate, actually…

I mooned my BOSS’ boss.

Is there a someecard for that?

Update: Looking for the results? Check em out!

A few weeks ago, you may recall that I held a giveaway for a bottle of Firefly Sweet Tea vodka in return for some sweet ass Halloween costume ideas. And, that I said a lil somethin’ somethin’ was in the works to hopefully make that a recurring thing here on the ole blog.

Well, it turns out that, after some consideration, it was just a little too illegal for Firefly to jump on board with. Hey, I get it. We can’t all be such rebels.

So imagine my surprise when, last week, an enormous box stamped with their logo showed up at my apartment. B and I tore into it like children on Christmas morning to find a plethora of pitchers, swizzle sticks, cups, stickers, and T SHIRTS galore.

And that is where you come in, my friends. I have two dude shirts and three cute girly “ringer” tees to send your way (click for pics), so that five lucky boys and girls may proudly boast their love for the Southern nectar of the gods, in style.

I’m like the Willy (Wilma?) Wonka of vodka up in here.

ANYHOO, so now the only question is, what you gotta do to win one?

All right, lessee. I was looking through the Post Secrets and thought about how a lot of them are kind of like 2 second TMI Thursdays. And THEN I was thinking about how a lot of you always say you’d love to write one, but blah blah your mother in law/grandfather/principal reads your blog, and you’re just not quite comfortable putting that shiz out there, yanno, with your e-name on it and all.

SO. How cool would it be if you guys maybe made one? A quickie TMI picture with a caption, I mean? For example, look at this Post Secret from yesterday…

Perfection, right? TMI in seven tiny little words. Or 1,007, if you’re counting the pickle. (NOTE: It can be whatever you want, however many words. I don’t care what it is, as long as it’s a picture that tells your TMI nugget you want to share. There are NO RULES.)

So, all you need to do to be entered is create your own little TMI picture. You can draw it, e-draw it, steal it from Google, I don’t care! If you don’t use photoshop or Power Point, the website Fotoflexer is free and works just as well- you can add text on the site, and then just save it to your computer. If you don’t want to get fancy with text editing, you can just email me the picture and the caption you want, and I’ll do it for you.

Now, as for the anonymity question. If you send it to me from your email, I promise it is super top secret and confidential and I’ll never tell a soul. After all, I’ve shared plenty in the blog’s lifetime to make us even, doncha think?

BUT if you’re truly digging deep for this TMI and you don’t want even me to know who it is, you can log in to a gmail I created just for this purpose and email it to me from there.

Log in at Gmail with the username: tmithursday

Password: tmit1234

And just email it to me, top secretly, at my email:

heylivitluvit at gmail dot com.

The first five submissions I get will win the T shirts! (Second Note: But I will post ALL of the submissions, anonymously, of course.) So if you send it to me from the anonymous gmail account, make sure to attach a pen name or something so I can ask you all to email me once I get the winners, who will be notified on Thursday morning as the TMI pictures go up!

And, yes, I will have a couple in there myself… you’ll have to guess which ones.

You’ve got til midnight-ish tomorrow (Wednesday), so send ‘em in now!!!

GO!

One of my favorite episodes of Sex and the City (yes, sadly, I am one of those girls, I did like that show- it wasn’t life changing or anything, but it was cute and fun and I totally own watch it), is the one where Carrie accidentally farts in front of Mr. Big for the first time, and then wonders if she’s killed the romance. In another episode, Miranda and Steve are in a good place for once, until she finds a pair of his tighty-whities in the wash- complete with full-blown skid marks. This leads her to wonder if she has mistaken being “too comfortable” with “intimacy”.

Sure, the show is a little ridiculous, but the question is actually a good one. Is there such a thing as being too comfortable? Can that kind of “intimacy” destroy all semblance of romance in your relationship? Should there be boundaries drawn, subjects declared taboo for discussion with your significant other?

Well, I imagine that every couple is different. Perhaps some people are sincerely more comfortable with certain boundaries in place. But for B and I, we are 110% open with each other about absolutely everything. And I mean everything. Because he is my best friend, and that’s me; that’s how I need to be in order to be completely comfortable with someone. I don’t hide anything; I don’t want to censor myself. I can’t do that and trust someone, love someone completely and totally. And he’s the same way. Playing the game “who can shock/gross out the other person more” is a Sunday morning pleasantry in our home. But, he will still turn around and say something so amazing, so heart-wrenchingly sweet I start to tear up at a moment’s notice. I still love surprising him with a clean apartment to show how much I appreciate him. We fight over who’s going to cook dinner for the other person almost every night.

For us, the fact that we can be way, way too open and honest with each other, means that there is trust. And trust, real trust, is the most romantic thing of all.

Or maybe I’m just a really vile human being, and I’ve finally met my match… Either way? I’ll take it. It’s perfect for me, for us.

But I wonder… is this the norm, or is there such a thing as TMI in a (serious) relationship with a significant other? Can you be too comfortable?

The scene: Our living room. I am on the couch, hungover and curled in a ball of self-pity furiously researching for our upcoming trip to Costa Rica. B had been taking a shower, or so I thought. Turns out he was actually admiring himself in the mirror for god knows how long.

He strides in, shirtless, a man on a mission. He looks like a 10 year old boy who just got a BB gun for Christmas and it’s raining evil squirrels outside.

“BABY,” he says, breathless from excitement, or maybe because he woke up at 8am and played soccer for an hour and a half while I slept in. Whatever. I made him breakfast. “BABY,” he cries joyously, “don’t I have the world’s MOST PERFECT NIPPLES?!”

I looked at him, trying to decide if he was joking. Assured that he is 100% superdeadserious, I proceed cautiously. “Yes, darling,” I coo, “you have the most beautiful man-nipples on the planet.”

“No, seriously, look! Aren’t they just the perfect size? I really think they are. And there’s nothing worse than a man with huge nipples,” he gazes lovingly at his man bits and thrusts them into my face for closer inspection.

“Well, that’s just crazy,” I mumble from underneath his Adonis-like nipplage. “It’s FAR worse for a woman to have bad nipples than for a man.”

“No way,” he says indignantly. “Definitely grosser for a man!”

“Oh, come on, babe- three words: dinner plate nipples. Way worse!” (Ha, you were all excited about some freakish boobage there, huh? Well, you know how to google. Have at it, hoss.)

“Uh uh. Bad nipples on a man, the worst. Absolutely.” I’m waiting for him to bust out the graphs and flow charts. I remember the structure for a persuasive essay from 9th grade English and try a little hard evidence to back up my hypothesis.

“But babe, women’s nipples are on a sexual part of the body. If her nips are bad, that’s messing with the SEX.” I think I’ve got a home run here.

“Are you saying my nipples aren’t sexual??” B asks, wounded and fearful that the importance of the perfection of his nipples has suddenly lessened in value.

“Yes, I am saying that your nipples are not sexual,” I laugh, delighting just a bit too much in his misery.

“You’re a madman,” he pouts, arms folded across his now-less-glorious chest.

“Mad-woman,” I point out, and win yet ANOTHER super important point of debate.

He looks over at me and says meaningfully, “Prove it.”

(Next Thursday I turn 25 years old, which means people will be expecting me to be all grown-up and stuff. I figure I might as well be as immature as possible for the next week. Join me.)

Let’s take a vote:

A) I have night terrors about large and/or hairy man-nipples coming after me in the shower.

B) A lovely woman with mis-sized nips is like a pre-op tranny: Just plain wrong.

C) A bad nipple is a bad nipple, and they’re equally disturbing on a he-beast or a she-devil.

D) I can’t believe you had an intense argument about nipple size, and you should probably never have children.

F) Can we please set up a webcam in your apartment, because this shit is unbelievable and you guys could be the next Newlyweds, only both of you are Jessica.

So, yesterday, Katherine was kind enough to tag me as an Honest Weblog Blogger or some such thingy. Basically, I think this means she knows waaaaayyyy too much about me from reading my wee corner of the interwebs. Coolio.

Keeping in fashion, I’ve been instructed to tag seven blogs that I find to be way too open and personal for the average joe’s comfort zone (it’s TMI week, after all! Says me). At least, that’s how I’ve decided to read it.

Additional Rules (borrrrrringggg): Apparently then I go and tell them in their comments that this has been done, and they are supposed to list their 7 choices and tag them in THEIR comments, and so on and so forth. (Ed. note: I will in NO WAY take it personally if you decide to completely ignore this. We can just pretend it never happened. Like that thing with the tranny in Atlantic City.)

So here goes, seven blogs that I think share more than we ever needed to know about them, and I absolutely love it:

Makeup Text: Oh, Julie, I know more about you than Bill Gates knows about computers. And I love every messy second of it. Keep it coming, chica.

Fearless in Toronto: I have nothing but admiration for this uber strong and courageous lady as she sets out on her own, leaving a crappy marriage in the dust. Preach.

Bread & Cheese: Makes me snarf my coffee each morning with giggles of delight. You make me squee in my pants, woman.

It’s Toasted: Yes, I’m biased, seeing as I’m sleeping with one or both of the authors (YOU don’t know), but I don’t think anyone could deny that the entire theme of their blog is basically TMI. Keep bringing the dirt.

DC Damsel: Absolutely hilarious and no holds barred. I may or may not have done a happy dance when I met her completely by accident.

Skintering Hearts: Brookem, would it totally freak you out if I told you I wanted to have a play date where we sat on my couch, gorging ourselves on Chinese food and wine and watching old Saved by the Bell reruns all night? Yes? Oh, I’m totally not saying that at all. That would be so weird. You’re great!

Culinary Couture: Lem, this is totes because I know you’ll hate me for this. And for leaving me alone to suffer at work on Fridays. Smooches!

There ya go, suckas. You’ve been tagged. In the FACE! Boo yah!

Alright, childrens. Back to pretending to work (AKA it’s Friday wheeeeeeeee!!!)