Let the good times roooolllll....

I have that stupid Knott's Soak City radio commercial in my head:

"Blah blah (don't know what she says here)! Soak city! Let the good times rooolllllll!!!"

If you don't know what I'm talking about...pause for a moment and make a weird, 

confused face, and let's move on.

I did four...FOUR...loads of laundry last night.

Am I done?

No.

Is that appalling to the mass population?

Probably.

Am I ashamed?

Slightly.

What inspired me, you ask?

Please, let me tell you.

This past weekend, "V" came over.

Who's "V", you ask?

"V" is the current guy that is more or less getting my attention at this time of my life.

(Could I have explained that any more awkwardly?)

Anyway.

This past weekend, "V" came over unexpectedly.

It was Saturday night.

We all had been Downtown for Jim's B-Day.

In my inebriated state, as I invited "V" back to the casa,

I wasn't thinking about the condition of my bedroom.

Oh, but I should have.

Saying my room looked like a bomb blew up is an understatement.

Saying it looked like an Al Qaeda war-zone would be more like it.

Seeing the look on "V's" face.....Priceless.

But not in a good way.

Oh how I wish I could PAY to never see that face again.

In my defense, I got home from Georgia,

never had a chance to un-pack,

(yeah, right)

then went to Utah!

To top it all off,

there was a pile of tampons on my desk,

in plain view,

for all to see.

And see he did.

SO.

Guess that experience scarred me enough to get my butt in gear and clean.

Moral of the story?

Don't invite men to your home. Ever again.

Happy Tuesday!

xoxo