in which there are house dreams (and a review)

Sam came back with some very reasonable estimates from a general contractor this week. I've spent the day dreaming about my house, and the studio I'd like to have, and just plain living in a mostly- finished space that is all ours- that not only belongs to us but that we shaped and made to our specifications. How incredibly romantic is that?

It is so incredibly romantic, this dreaming of houses, that I did something completely out- of- character and bought Sam a Valentine's gift. Sort of. I mean, whatever. It's Valentine-y and squishy- sweet and almost February. I don't want to commit to calling it a Valentine's thing, because V- Day stresses me out and I've always appreciated our mutual boycott, but really, one gift doesn't doom us to obligatory, scheduled emotiveness forever, right?


Anyways. It's handmade and awesome and I can't post anything more about it until he gets it.


In other news, the P- Mate? You remember the P- Mate. Of course you do, and if you don't, please, take a minute to refresh your memory. This may be a little too much information, but there had been requests for reviews. If you don't want to read about peeing, now's the time to navigate away, otherwise- it's been a week now, and I have this to say:

The P- Mate is the best invention in, well, ever, girls. In ever.

Never again, the horrors of the public toilet. Never again, cleaning up some filthy strangers' leavings while desperately needing to pee. Never again with the careful, time consuming creation of a tissue- paper nest in order to have a 15 second piss, never again the utter failure of the paper protector. Never. A- fucking- gain. I feel nigh- on liberated.I bought two more packages this afternoon, because I don't ever want to be in this port- a- john heavy base without one.

(And while I'm at it, I need to formally apologize to Sam. I get it, sweetness. I really, really do. I was wrong.)

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