awkward

i hate when girls come over. maybe because in my mind i've built my place to be a bachelor pad, free of the worlds ills (read: raging vag holes that ruin my life). but in reality, its because i dont like people judging me that i, potentially, will murder with fishing wire and a ski mask. when a mouse enters the lions den, who knows what'll happen? this is not a confession-- just a mere proclamation of affairs.

some time ago, a female friend was over to check out the place. she asks to use the bathroom and i oblige. in the back of my mind i'm thinking "bitch make it quick, i do evil in there." she however was in there forever. eventually she comes out with my white hand towel up to her face-- she's wiping her mascara on my WHITES!

Fuck that! I hate when there are filthy random stains on my nice whites. if any of you have ever been to my place, i only care about 2 things. 1. high thread count on my egyptians cotton sheets 2. my perfectly white towels; fluffy as sin.

"BITCH! Don't use that towel!" i yelled bereft of courtesy. she looked frightened-- the face reserved for the moments right before you realize you're gonna get a blast in the face. "what kind of blast?" you may ask yourself-- just ask maria ozawa.

I digress. The resonance of my outburst echoed off the wall, and got back to me. As it hit my ear drum i had the stark realization that if i admit that i'm very anal about my whites and linens there will be much more harm to what semblance i have of being a easy going joe. i can't have my visage crumble under the precept that the truth is i love martha stewart for more than her g.i.l.f-ish wiles.

"why?" she meeked.

"uh.... cuz... uh... that's my nut rag... your eye will get pregnant."

in my head i was all "ha ha... yeah.... problem solved ::air five::"

8===> ------ O;

the end.