Nothing says sexy like coming home to this scene.

Is there any one thing your partner does that you wish maybe they didn’t? Even the teenciest bit?

PS It’s not the TP thing, it’s the making me think about him doing stuff.

…on the princess scale. I’m outraged.

Let me back up.

Last year I took three friends - who knew little of each other - on a road trip. We drove south 5 or 6 hours (who can keep track when you’re knitting?) to Jekyll Island and a magical, mystical, friendship cementing, chickens in trees and skinny dipping place called The Hostel in the Forest. During a lazy afternoon of reading on our bellies on a near desolate beach, we dipped ourselves in the ocean.

NOTE TO MEN: look away now.

It was during that dip and chattering over the waves and newfound buoyancy that the topic somehow turned to my needing to roll up the beach to the cabana for a check-in/swap out of a female variety. Problem was that we’d hustled away from the hostel (before chores, me thinks) and I hadn’t…ya know…packed properly. One of the girls couldn’t offer me assistance because she’s a member of the Diva Cup cult, and another couldn’t because she hadn’t packed anything - didn’t need to. The last of my wee little piggies offered her stash of OB.

Now let me just say that as much as I love the earth, I do not love jamming my own appendages in my girlie places. The other alternative involved a cardboard applicator…to which I replied something along the lines of “I have a sensitive vagina.”

Alright. It wasn’t along those lines. It was that line.

The line was noted in our book of fabulous one-liners for which we’d always remember our retreat and though amusing, I’d mostly forgotten it.

Until tonight.

I met up with said Queen of Cardboardandfingerjamming and a few friends tonight after work for a little adult giggletude. They’re her friends, really, a circle I’ve been invited to join time and again (and loved every minute of it!) but nonetheless, her friends first.

One of these friends (who may or may not remain NAMELESS) and my gal-pal apparently had an interesting conversation when we returned from our grand tree hugging adventure to the Georgia Shore, starting somewhere near my sensitive vagina and ending with their having rated all their friends on a Princess Scale - where they were the happy medium.

My vajayjay combined with my blogging apparently ranks me as a 6 on the princess scale - which - returning to my original point - I find appalling.

I consider myself something of a no-holds-barred, take-no-prisoners, say-it-like-it-is, hard-and-fast, hike-camp-dig-sweat, morse-code-dashing kinda gal. In real life. A solid 3. I’m a tomboy for cryin’ out loud. I don’t buy designer clothes or wear make-up or spend a lot of time on my hair (all other considering factors on the weighting scale).

It’s only here in the safe embrace of the faceless interwebs or with close friends that I let the other side out. I mean really -I grew up in a house where my mother used code like “BM”, and “TP”. I still can’t bring myself to use real words when I go to the doctor and tell them I don’t feel well. I CRIED at my doctor years ago when he suggested a colonoscopy while I was awake. I cry at commercials. But that’s for me and my loves and not for the whole world. Not for consideration in the running for This Circle of Friends Next Top Princess (which I was really in no danger of winning).

So there’s the rambling story and my ranking and now I want to know - if I’m ground zero, if I’m the neutral 5 on myveraown princess scale - based on what you know about me - where would you rate me? Where would you rate yourself?

What’s worse: to feel like you have something hanging out of your nose, and developing an unconscious tick of regularly lifting your hand to your face to rub your honker, or; to have something hanging out of your nose and not realize it until a day worth of interactions and the unwitting embarrassment has scarred you to your core?

Breaking up with girlfriends isn’t any easier than breaking up with a boy you dated 2.2 times or 2.2 years. In most cases I’ve found the conversations considerably more difficult and have come out on the other end with a greater sense of grief and loss.

We all have people we’ve drifted apart from over time. Priorities change, babies arrive, job opportunities are chased cross country, new loves or hobbies consume. Hakuna Matata.

What has challenged me a few times in so many years has been arriving at the place where you realize the person isn’t good for you, or you’re not good for them, or that things have shifted in such a way that the relationship isn’t what you signed up for and it’s best to walk away.

I’m fascinated by the unique way individuals handle stressful situations, how different our experiences are and how much I can learn from others successes as well as their mistakes.

What I’m interested to know is this: have you ever broken up with a friend? Do you drift off/begin memory sanitization sequence? Do you have a candid conversation? Does it depend entirely on the situation/the person/duration of the friendship or how ballsy you’re feeling?

Do tell, I want to learn.

My seester and I are planning a weekend for us and all our fabulousness in NOLA in late Jan and in an email back and forth with The Mc telling him I’m running away from home he says “what’s NOLA?”

We talk about it that night and he says he’s never heard that before and he thinks I made it up. I’m cereal.

Without divulging what it means or Googling if you don’t already know, please answer honestly: do you know what NOLA is? A simple “yes” or “no” will do…

Oh cupcake. What am I going to do with you?

Yesterday I was in the elevator making small talk with one of our fire systems maintenance people and while I’m stepping out he says “you know, you have quite a fan club. The guys I work with, you know. They’re big fans.”

I know he’s talking about the one who complimented me on my gray last week, who said “I have to commend you for going gray, it suits you.” He went on to tell me about his wife the beautician - 12 years his junior.

It was flattering, but uncomfortable. My client base is 99% male and I’ve come to understand what that means for the likes of me - the one female they come into contact with in the course of a day.

Office politics are a non-issue for me, my focus is on a more important item: what to do about clients who flirt or give you googly eyes.

I’ve taken to wearing a ring that resembles a wedding band on my right hand. This, coupled with my short hair and athletic build, seems to confuse them. I don’t wear make-up but I do wear Birks with socks. My quick wit and similar sense of humor tends to disarm them, it brings me to their level and I suddenly become one of the guys. Still, it’s there. It’s there because I’m friendly and approachable and I think of all people on the same level unless they prove themselves unworthy.

So tell me, what’s a girl to do?

Who in ATL wants to take my brother riding when he comes to visit at the end of the month? He’s bringing his road bike. See legs. Can ride.

When he’s not being annihilated by trucks, that is.

A day off for me apparently consists of waking up, grabbing coffee, taking Maya for walk, coming home and doing laundry. When I’m all fresh and clean, I’ll go to the bank (more live checks, damn them!), get my fingers and toes done and who knows what else. Jealous? Didn’t think so.

Random comment: when I walked in the door and turned on the Today show, only to hear someone recapping the Olympics say Bodie “couldn’t get it done”. Heh heh GIT ER DONE!

Random pictures: Roses from Valentines Day

New installation of “good graffiti” in L5P being applied last night.

Oh and PS, I’m guest blogging for J while he’s racing in the boonies this weekend…go show him some love.