Interruptus Orgasmous

Finally, a break to write and hang out with my friends 🙂 . I have been studying non-stop, and passed my third license. Three down, four to go!  Funny and stressful story to tell you about the test.  To take the tests, I drive a little over an hour to sit in a sterile, robot operated and silent (dead silence) computer lab for a test with an hour and 15 minute time limit.  All three have yet to take me that total time. This morning, I was up at 5 am to squeeze in a little more studying. Leave the house at 6 am, get gas, and mosey my way an hour to my favorite testing center (I will admit, the ladies that work it are extremely wonderful).  I carefully choose my noise cancelling headphones, steered by one of the robots ladies to my computer, lucky number 5. Then it happens…. Interruptus orgasmous, coitus, testus.  The lights flash and the computer glitches (I kid you not, no exaggeration), and a warning screen pops up. Program can’t save. Are you joking? Am I losing it? Are my leftover stress tears from the drive still clouding my vision? Arms starting popping up all over the lab. Stressed. Frantic. Worried. And the robots ladies were on the phone, as quickly as the lights flashed. 20 minutes, that’s how long I had to wait until I could resume my test.  Obviously, seeing as I am not currently in a drunken stupor, I passed.

You are probably wondering what that story had to do with my title. Here is the real gossip. I have spent my days studying, uptight and tense.  The other day, I was fading and quickly.  The perfect solution popped into my mind… Home Alone. Not the MaCaulay Culkin classic or theme to my life. But the fun little gem that every girl needs to keep in her bedside table.

Side note: I am surprisingly somewhat of a prude. I tend to shy away from these sort of topics. But hey, who are you going to tell… Right?

The Home Alone. A silent, rechargeable, waterproof gem from God. Laying in bed, pulling out my gem for an afternoon delight. Out of nowhere, I hear a door close and voices. A little too close for comfort, way too close to be coming from a neighbors.  I trip over myself to hide put away my gem to investigate. I open the door to my garage, and my contractor (Mr. Fix-It) is standing in my garage (25 feet away from my bedroom I must add).  I’m dumbfounded.

To say the least, I was tightly wound and had no outlet thanks to Mr. Fix-It.  I did what any self-respecting prude would do. Found things to keep myself busy. I discussed the never-ending fence with Mr. Fix-It, played the part of the pooper scooper, the green-thumbed gardener that waters plants, and ate corn nuts.  Of course nothing helped, nothing cures interruptus orgasmous.  Well there is one thing that cures it, the big ‘O.  A cure that was not to befall me on that day. This single girl has had many years to improve upon stuffing down hoity-toity non-prude needs. A guy friend told me today that I need to find a guy to unwind my tightly wound…. insides.

What did I have to show for my day?  Watered plants, no more dog poop, additional studying, and shoved down desires.

I hate to say it, but I have to go. I’ve been up late too many nights in a row this week and I have a leftover #Cookout milkshake in the freezer.  And as always, #GossipGirl is distracting me!  Until next time…

XOXO – M

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