Question du jour -- NSFW!

What is the weirdest question you’ve ever been asked?

Not necessarily weird, but certainly unexpected.... For a few glorious months, I worked at an adult emporium. The first job they set you at when you start is doing pricing, shrink-wrapping and attaching inventory control devices behind the scenes to expose you to the products and give you an idea what the costs are like.

So there I was, second or third day, back in the stockroom, being very industrious and not paying the slightest bit of attention to the conversation going on amongst a gaggle of my (male) coworkers across the room. Then one of them hollered at me, "Hey, Fluffy---do you like big dicks?"

I thought about it for a count of three, and replied, "Depends on where it's going!"

To which he responded, "Oooh! Me too!"

Absolutely true story; I'm just sorry I couldn't send to to Reader's Digest.

.

Question du jour -- NSFW!

What is the weirdest question you’ve ever been asked?

Not necessarily weird, but certainly unexpected.... For a few glorious months, I worked at an adult emporium. The first job they set you at when you start is doing pricing, shrink-wrapping and attaching inventory control devices behind the scenes to expose you to the products and give you an idea what the costs are like.

So there I was, second or third day, back in the stockroom, being very industrious and not paying the slightest bit of attention to the conversation going on amongst a gaggle of my (male) coworkers across the room. Then one of them hollered at me, "Hey, Fluffy---do you like big dicks?"

I thought about it for a count of three, and replied, "Depends on where it's going!"

To which he responded, "Oooh! Me too!"

Absolutely true story; I'm just sorry I couldn't send to to Reader's Digest.

.

Doing and being

I would fail! at being a Winchester. I went out and dug up the old post for the missing mailbox. It isn't like excavating a grave, it was maybe a foot and a half deep. Took me all of twenty-five minutes, not exactly a marathon.

And that was all I could do. I got the old post out of there and staggered back into the house, feeling like I'd been hit by a truck. And it's not unduly warm out---only about 70F.

But hey---it's out. Tomorrow, I'll put the new one in, fill the bottom of the hole with cement powder in lieu of dirt, soak the ground and let hydrodynamics do the rest. Then, god willing, I'll start getting mail again. I hate to think of what this interruption may have screwed up: subscriptions, utility bills, food stamp paperwork, whatever....

I haven't had these jeans on in a while. They're the elastic-waist ones that was my go-to pair for ages. They still fit around the waist, but they're tremendous through the seat and thighs. Definitely not something I'd wear out and about.

Speaking of fit, I wore black to church on Sunday. Favorite black pants and a drapey tunic top from TJ Maxx. AI complimented me on my weight loss, although really, it's only about 5 pounds since New Years. Just a reminder that black is slimming.

.

Doing and being

I would fail! at being a Winchester. I went out and dug up the old post for the missing mailbox. It isn't like excavating a grave, it was maybe a foot and a half deep. Took me all of twenty-five minutes, not exactly a marathon.

And that was all I could do. I got the old post out of there and staggered back into the house, feeling like I'd been hit by a truck. And it's not unduly warm out---only about 70F.

But hey---it's out. Tomorrow, I'll put the new one in, fill the bottom of the hole with cement powder in lieu of dirt, soak the ground and let hydrodynamics do the rest. Then, god willing, I'll start getting mail again. I hate to think of what this interruption may have screwed up: subscriptions, utility bills, food stamp paperwork, whatever....

I haven't had these jeans on in a while. They're the elastic-waist ones that was my go-to pair for ages. They still fit around the waist, but they're tremendous through the seat and thighs. Definitely not something I'd wear out and about.

Speaking of fit, I wore black to church on Sunday. Favorite black pants and a drapey tunic top from TJ Maxx. AI complimented me on my weight loss, although really, it's only about 5 pounds since New Years. Just a reminder that black is slimming.

.

If it's Tuesday, we must be painting the garage....

I nodded off for a late afternoon nap, and just woke from an odd little dream.

Background---this morning, I was joking with BigRed that I have descended to the point where I can only tell what day of the week it is by what's on TV. As in, last might was Alcatraz (Monday), so today must be Tuesday (Justified).

Which perhaps accounts for the dream wherein Timothy Olyphant was painting my garage. (Oh, it gets better.) I'd just taken a nap---why I was napping in my garage, IDK, but I was slightly surprised to see Tim there...since Walton Goggins had been there when I dozed off. Tim and his assistant were painting the interior of my garage.

Said garage didn't have nearly the amount of crap in it as my real garage. The color was RED. Really most sincerely red. The cabinets had been stained dark brown, and I was going for Mediterranean style.

Tim was trying to do some kind of stained-glass technique for a mural on the back of the garage door, using a can of spray paint. He wasn't satisfied with the results and painted over it, remarking that he would just "freehand it in". He asked me to please get him something to lean on, and darn it, I jumped up to oblige and woke myself up.

What the fuck, self? Okay, so the last thing I watched before I fell asleep was some DIY show where they were remodeling a laundry room---mine is at the far end of my garage===and one scene had them painting it---beige!---but how did my sub-conscious morph it into that?! *marvels*

Mind you, I don't know WHO he was. It wasn't Raylan, it wasn't 47, it certainly wasn't Thomas Gabriel or Seth Bullock, and I don't *think* it was his character from Catch and Release. I'm pretty sure Tim himself doesn't randomly commit acts of spray paint in strange women's garages.

So who was my knight with a paintbrush? IDK, but somewhere in my labyrinthine synapses, he's waiting for me to come back with something for him to lean on to steady his hand while he paints. Poor guy's gonna have to keep waiting; I never have mastered the technique of going back to a previous dream.

.

If it's Tuesday, we must be painting the garage....

I nodded off for a late afternoon nap, and just woke from an odd little dream.

Background---this morning, I was joking with BigRed that I have descended to the point where I can only tell what day of the week it is by what's on TV. As in, last might was Alcatraz (Monday), so today must be Tuesday (Justified).

Which perhaps accounts for the dream wherein Timothy Olyphant was painting my garage. (Oh, it gets better.) I'd just taken a nap---why I was napping in my garage, IDK, but I was slightly surprised to see Tim there...since Walton Goggins had been there when I dozed off. Tim and his assistant were painting the interior of my garage.

Said garage didn't have nearly the amount of crap in it as my real garage. The color was RED. Really most sincerely red. The cabinets had been stained dark brown, and I was going for Mediterranean style.

Tim was trying to do some kind of stained-glass technique for a mural on the back of the garage door, using a can of spray paint. He wasn't satisfied with the results and painted over it, remarking that he would just "freehand it in". He asked me to please get him something to lean on, and darn it, I jumped up to oblige and woke myself up.

What the fuck, self? Okay, so the last thing I watched before I fell asleep was some DIY show where they were remodeling a laundry room---mine is at the far end of my garage===and one scene had them painting it---beige!---but how did my sub-conscious morph it into that?! *marvels*

Mind you, I don't know WHO he was. It wasn't Raylan, it wasn't 47, it certainly wasn't Thomas Gabriel or Seth Bullock, and I don't *think* it was his character from Catch and Release. I'm pretty sure Tim himself doesn't randomly commit acts of spray paint in strange women's garages.

So who was my knight with a paintbrush? IDK, but somewhere in my labyrinthine synapses, he's waiting for me to come back with something for him to lean on to steady his hand while he paints. Poor guy's gonna have to keep waiting; I never have mastered the technique of going back to a previous dream.

.