single. ply. toilet. paper.

I’m going to tell you a little story that is way too much information.  You are going to love it.

When we moved into this house nine months ago, we inherited a problem.  The toilets here, they don’t flush well.  At first I thought the Impropers might just have a problem- like a “our pooh is huge or something” type problem.  Then I heard from Elle that Jordan flushed a Capri Sun packet down the toilet so I assumed that was backing us all up.  Then I heard the truth, that it never actually happened, so I called off Roto-Rooter and resolved that I need to increase fiber intake or something because having to plunge every time someone went pee around here was getting to be ridiculous.

We suffered for months with the whole thing.  I’m serious.  Every time I’d get a load of towels washed and dried, we’d start the whole over-flowing toilet fiasco over again and the washing and bleaching and what the shit is going on around here migraines would start coming on.  One day it hit me, “holy crap (tehe) I bet we are on a septic system and I’ve been flushing tampons.  I have ruined the plumbing!”  So I asked my neighbor (even though there’s a little manhole right outside my driveway that clearly says “sewer” on it.)  She laughed and told me that no, we are on the city sewer system, but that every. single. home in our development has this problem.  The pipe that meets the toilet hole is the wrong size or some such nonsense and one person actually had all their toilets and pipe replaced because they hated it so much.

Where do I sign up for that program?

She explained that, since she potty trained her kids while living in this house hers are well-trained.  They pooh, flush, wipe, flush, wipe, flush.  Seriously.  She told me to implement this program and my (errr… Jimmie’s) plunging days would be over.  Sounds good.  In theory.  It has taken a while for this to catch on.  So in the mean time, I switched to single-ply toilet paper.   Let me tell you a couple of pros about SPTP.  It’s cheaper than dirt.  You can buy 178 rolls for 50 cents.  It also doesn’t clog up the toilets as much.  Let me tell you a couple of cons.  It hurts to wipe your butt with that stuff.  There, I said it.  SPTP is the devil’s TP.  And if you’ve had Mexican food, forget it!  Also, if you happen to be a girl and it’s shark week, you just want to check yourself into the nearest Motel 6 for some decent quilted toilet tissue flushing capabilities.

So, Saturday I did my Costco run. (I know, why in the holy hell would I go to Costco on a Saturday?  I don’t even know.)  And there it was calling to me from the 12 foot wall of paper goods.  Charmin Ultra in all her glory.  My heart fluttered and I think I actually felt my butt cheeks do a summersault of joy.  I wanted her.  She wanted to come home with me.  A whole quarter’s supply of the good stuff for only $21.00.  We were destined to be together.

But my brain told me no.  So I compromised with myself.  I bought the Kirkland, two-ply with a soft finish but not too quilted.  $14.99 for a quarter of a year’s worth of happy wiping.  Or… the road to perdition where we have to call in a plumber to snake the pipes and give us a fresh start.  I don’t know.  I just put the first roll on the spool and am hoping for the best.

Mexican cuisine for dinner… here I come.

50 shades of are you freaking kidding me?

I read 50 Shades of Grey.

I’m going to give you a moment to judge me. Judge, judge, judge away.

Done? Okay, good.

I have been known to read a trashy romance book before. I’m not scared of a hot and heavy love scene. I don’t need it for a stimulating sex life, and I am not an erotica consumer. But, I’m not scared of a little smut either. If it’s a good book.

When I picked up 50 Shades before all the hype began, I laughed at the pure elementary level of writing and threw it down. (I know, this coming from me, the queen of the run-on sentence, and if we’re being honest here: she who has basically developed her own version of the English language. I know.) I can read or write a blog with a million errors and have no qualms about it. We don’t employ editors and proof-readers and whole publishing staffs to make sure our shit reads well. We put it down, let spell-check do it’s work, give it a quick once-over and hit publish. I can be a little more forgiving of that process. This is not where I meant to go today.

I finally gave into the peer pressure and read the stupid book. Yes, if my friends jump off of a bridge, there’s a good chance I will follow. I’m weak. I’m really not bothered by graphic sex scenes in a book. No, I don’t watch porn. No, I’m not a tramped up vixen with a torture chamber of love. I’m an as-vanilla-as-they-come house wife with a decent sex life that is not easily made hot and bothered by someone’s silly interpretation of the intimacy between two people who actually love each other. It’s like watching a B grade horror movie and comparing it to a well made blockbuster or film-festival winner. It pales in comparison and is laughable.

The thing that gets me about this book-once, of course, I got over the craptastic writing and 7th grade vocabulary for the erogenous zones- is the freaking bondage. I, admittedly, know nothing about BDSM. I don’t have a use for it, but I also don’t care if there are people who do. Whatever happens in someone’s bedroom (or red room of pain for that matter) is their business, not mine. I personally don’t need someone to be in control of me or vice versa. I’m about the partnership and give-and-take of a relationship. Not one person dominating the other- in the bedroom or in life in general. It’s just not my thing.

Actually, I guess I am a little judgy about it. If I’m being honest, I don’t understand how it can be anyone’s “thing” if they are a healthy individual. Why the shit should you want someone to treat you like a dog? Or small child? And aren’t you a little on the whacked out side if you need to treat someone that way in order to be aroused? I know, I’m going into some territory that I shouln’t. But I can’t help it.

I just can’t wrap my mind around all these women who are hot and bothered over “watching” a woman be treated like a lap dog. Sure, I feel for Mr. Grey and his myriad of issues. I want to know if he overcomes them and becomes (in my view) a “normal” guy that can let his woman touch his chest and not have to tie her up so she has no chance of doing it. I want him to have some resolve in his life. I’m interested in the characters for that reason. I want to read the damn second and third books just to see if these messed up people get their shit together. It’s like watching Celebrity Rehab. It’s a completely ridiculous (and horribly written) train wreck, but I need to know if these people get their lives in order.

I was not once twitterpated (oh yes, I’m pulling out all the vanilla words I can muster) by the “love scenes” between those two emotional misfits. What in the shit is wrong in relationships today that women are flocking to this book for some hot and heavy stimulation? I understand that everyone is turned on by something different. There may be a time here or there that I get a smack on the ass that makes me tingle. What? I’m human. That doesn’t mean I want to invest in whips and puppy dog outfits for my sex chamber. And I sure as hell don’t need to read about it to have a fulfilling romp with my man. What in the shit, people? I can’t understand. I just can’t.

Call me a dried up old prude if you want to. I’m still probably getting more delicious action than you are.

There, I’m done judging. Carry on with your whips and paddles. You freaks.