It'll be fine. Don't worry so much.
Uncomfortable sexy story #1:
Anywhoo, today I went and bought caulk. I went to the local paint store, which is small, and which I frequent because I may not be able to do much, home improvement-wise, but I've always enjoyed painting. Gives you a fresh start, you know? I go there a lot and there's this guy in his twenties who has this Judd Nelson in Breakfast Club vibe going on. And I *still* fall for that crap.
So I'm standing around, acting like a little school girl, trying like hell to avoid talking to him on account of I need caulk, but I'm not finding the exact type of caulk I need. So then he says, alllll sexay like (not really), "Can I help you find something?" "I hope so. I'm looking for a particular type of caulk. I need the kind you can squeeze. The kind that's white when it comes out, but dries clear. Do you have that, I wonder? *bats eyelashes sexily*" You get the gist. Kinda fun, really. (Of course I only said the first two sentences there, but wouldn't it have been great had I run with it? Actually, nah. I don't know how to bat my eyelashes sexily. Plus, I'd have creeped young Judd out. And honestly, I'm going to need more paint in the future.)
Uncomfortable sexy story #2: A few years ago, in our last house, which was also in a slight state of disrepair when we bought it (it's a pattern with us), I had the energy to completely redo all of the front landscaping. It was a huge job, for such a small house and a small lot. The reason is that half the yard was taken up by pachysandra, which is a densely rooted groundcover that is frankly a bitch to remove. A real bitch. So I thought the rental of some equipment to help might be in order.
I trot off to the local EZ Rental place, which, again, I came to frequent. Didn't stop me here, though. Young-ish dude behind the counter helped me. I explained my problem - the roughly 80 square feet of pachysandra to get up and replace, eventually, with grass. The roots. The roots are the problem. So, any machine would get jammed trying to rip all that stuff out, excepting maybe a back hoe or something. And I say to the guy, completely unaware of what I was saying, "So...you're saying it's a hand job, then." "Uhhhhh." "I mean, it has to be done by hand." "Uhhhh....yea."
Uncomfortable sexy story #3: For some reason, when I was a kid once, I was sitting around outside with my mom, my younger brother, and our lawn guy Kenny. He was nice. Died of alcoholism, ultimately, but he was a nice guy.
Somehow it wasn't too unusual, I guess, that we should all be sitting around chatting. My mom's very extroverted and is super friendly with everyone she's ever employed for anything. In any case, I was probably 10, my brother 9. Leaf blowers had just come out. Yes, I seem to be getting old. And we kind of start marvelling at it. And my brother had the distinct honor to be the one to say, completely unknowingly of course, "Nice blow job, Kenny." I had no idea what that meant either, but what I remember is how red my mom got and how she let out a brief giggle before she wrapped the chat up, somehow, and herded us inside.
Oh and all of these pictures are wildly sexual if you squint. Real hard, like.
Huh. I enjoyed this. Even more than I enjoyed telling young Judd-ish that I needed caulk.
Until next time...