The pros and cons of being a confessor

I’ve always loved it when people become so comfortable with me that they allow themselves to open their hearts to me and tell me things they have buried deep within, things they can’t tell to their families, coworkers, or other friends.

When somebody tells you a personal secret, it is a grand feeling. It makes one feel ultra-special. I am always overwhelmed by the trust that has been placed on me and my discression. I think to myself, “Nobody else knows that, just me!!” That’s ultra cool.

However, sometimes folks come and tell me things that are just way too juicy. Those bits of information are the ones I really struggle with, for the primal urge of telling secrets is very, very powerful. In those cases, I begin wishing my memory was able to be wiped clean at the push of a button. Sometimes I have to make such an effort to keep my mouth shut that the veins in my neck start to bloat and they feel like they’re gonna burst at any given moment. It’s just like passing a kidney stone, but without being able to expel the damned thing out.

Lucky for me, I’ve been provided with a lousy long term memory. So even if a secret has given me a bit of trouble to keep, it eventually gets deleted a little while after it enters my brain. It’s a real blessing.

When cushy ain’t kosher

I came in contact with cushy toilet seats about three years ago, at my girlfriend’s house.

In case you don’t know what I’m talking about, picture a toilet with a soft pillow shaped like a toilet seat.  That’s a cushy seat.
Back then, I remember it was such a different experience, at first I didn’t quite know what to think. I also remember it was quite comfy yet odd.

I even tried unsuccesfuly to convince my folks to get one.

A little while later, I forgot about the whole thing.

Some time later, my mom replaced one of the house toilet seats with a cushy seat. I tell you, it wasn’t pleasurable. After being so accustomed to a hard seat, sitting on that thing is eerie. It feels too soft. Obscenely soft. It wasn’t a problem at my in-laws, ‘cause it was a new toilet and everything. But this is one hard toilet seat I knew and loved. You can’t just go and change stuff on me all of a sudden.

GIVE ME BACK MY HARD SEAT!!!

Caller’s remorse

I just called a friend long distance to her cell phone. The conversation was very nice and we had a good laugh. I just hope I can at least chuckle when the phone bill gets here.

I don’t want to know THAAAAT!

My boss down at the Culture Publishing House is very concerned with his health. Flu, indigestion, sores, allergies, you name it, he’s got it. Some people would say that he borders on hypocondria, but even if he is, that’s ok with me. Everybody is entitled to a hobby, right? The ugly part is that he likes to narrate every symptom to the smallest detail.

I really wish he didn’t. I mean, c’mon…  telling your coworkers about your fifth bathroom break is not endearing.
Not by a long shot.