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It’s been nearly a month since I posted, but really, there hasn’t been that much to write about. Well, except one huge thing that happened two weeks ago, and I haven’t had the time to talk about it since because of work and life and so forth. But now is a good breaking point to stop and reflect. Settle in and grab your beverage of choice.

Let’s backtrack a bit; you all know I dropped out of the public scene for all of 2019. It was a really dark time for me, one in which I felt like I didn’t belong anymore, I didn’t know who my friends were (with a few exceptions who stuck with me through it all). Come 2020, I was ready to reenter things. I reactivated FetLife, and in February, I went to a big national party after skipping the last two. I had a fabulous time, felt reconnected and renewed, and was looking forward to further adventures.

Then COVID-19 hit. And everything shut down. No parties. No play dates. No coffee dates. No anything, socially. I’d reentered the scene just in time to have it disappear.

Virtual meetings became the norm. Zoom, FaceTime, Skype, etc. The only way we could see our friends was on a computer screen. But it was better than nothing, right?

Except I couldn’t do any of that. Because I still had this old desktop that ran perfectly well with just one glitch: I couldn’t chat with anyone online. It didn’t have a built-in cam, and I tried three different external webcams, all with the same result: picture, but no sound. I had my computer tech take the system home with him and tear it apart, trying to find out what was wrong, and he couldn’t. So I knew I wouldn’t be able to do virtual chat with anyone until I got a new computer system.

Which I couldn’t afford.

However, my birthday is at the end of September. And John was making noises about how I should start shopping and researching computer systems. I knew what that meant; he was going to buy me a new system for my birthday. He does stuff like that. I mean, he bought me my current system, and insisted I get the best. When I was going to buy a 19-inch monitor, he said live a little, get a 21-inch one. This system has served me well, and still runs well (and quickly), save for that webcam issue. But perhaps it was time to move on. After all, I was still on Windows 7 and Word 2010.

Online, I complained endlessly to anyone who would listen about how I couldn’t cam with anyone. People said things like “You really need to upgrade.” Sure, okay. Wanna buy me a new computer?? Tell me something I don’t know.

A couple of weeks ago, my dear friend Jay and I were having our usual daily email exchange, and she cryptically told me that she’d “done a thing” and had help with it. That I would be getting a package from Fed-Ex that I’d have to sign for, and it would be coming from Zack’s address. (You remember Zack from 50 Freaks; I had several pictures of him and me in my party blog.) Um… what? She said she knew it was my birthday next month and she had planned an early surprise gift. She had one request: when I got it and opened it, she wanted me to record my reactions on my phone.

What on earth had she been up to?? I couldn’t imagine what it was. John couldn’t either.

The package was supposed to arrive sometime Thursday… but then midday Jay got a notification that it was now bumped to sometime Friday. (Of course, they don’t give you a time window — they just say “sometime before end of day.”) Argh. Well, at least I was going to be home all day and evening Friday, right? So we waited.

On Friday, I got up early and got as much work done as I could. Jay had warned me that once the package arrived, I wouldn’t be getting much of anything done for the rest of the day. Good grief, this was getting more and more intriguing. And at 2:15, my doorbell rang. Yup, Fed-Ex. A huge, heavy box. I signed for it and dragged it inside. Then, as requested, I set up my phone to record my opening it. I grabbed a sharp knife and hit the record button.

Oh. My. God.

There was a ton of packing material, piles of bubble wrap, and two distinctly wrapped packages within. Recording all the while, I babbled in confusion as I tore through things, trying to figure out what the hell I was looking at here. And then I saw the laptop case.

No. They didn’t.

They did.

I fumbled and fumfered around with the case; I was so flustered, I couldn’t even get the damn thing open! Finally I did, and then I pulled out the new Asus Chromebook. Oh. My. God.

When I lifted the lid, I saw a couple of sheets of paper within. One was a note from Zack, explaining everything that was included, and letting me know that he had installed software to allow him to remotely get into my computer, help me figure things out, copy over all my files, etc. The other sheet was from Jay. Along with a very loving note, she let me know that this had been a group effort; she’d contacted several people and gotten contributions from them. She listed all of them and their FetLife/Twitter names. And on the other side was a list of messages from all the people. Besides Jay and Zack, ten other people had contributed to this. When I saw the messages, the waterworks started.

Mind you, I was being recorded. So here I was, sobbing, babbling incoherently, sitting on the carpet fumbling about with all this wrapping detritus around me, thanking Jay and Zack, saying how much I loved everyone, that I couldn’t believe they did this, that I didn’t have the faintest idea what to do with this right now because I’m such a techno-dork… and then I shut off the recorder.

Before I finished unwrapping the gift(s).

There was still another package to open. They thought of everything.

Besides the laptop and its new travel case, there was a separate, larger monitor. A separate webcam, because Zack said the built-in cam was a little grainy. Plugs and connectors and other things I didn’t recognize. And a wireless mouse.

The laptop was loaded with software. Microsoft Office 2016, which Zack said was the latest and the best before they went to that Microsoft 365 nonsense that you sort of “rent” instead of buying the program. A full Adobe suite, including Acrobat and Photoshop. Zoom was loaded. Zack had even linked me into his streaming service, so I could watch things from his collection of shows and movies.

Unreal.

I ended up making a second recording to add my thanks for all the other stuff I’d discovered after I made the first one. Yes, I came off like a complete dork. But it was real. It was me, raw, overwhelmed and touched beyond belief.

Priorities. The first thing I did was upload the two recordings of my reactions and send them to both Jay and Zack. I took a selfie, in the midst of my sob-fest, with red nose and wet eyes and the whole shebang. I sent a tweet, linking nearly everyone involved, and attached the selfie, saying words couldn’t express what was in my heart, so here was a picture of me bawling with joy. For the three people who weren’t on Twitter, I texted two and emailed the third.

Zack told me that he’d be available that evening and would help me figure stuff out. After I had my nightly phone chat with John (and I cried all the way through that too), first thing I did was take a picture of the bits and pieces I couldn’t figure out and text it to Zack, and he explained what they were. I connected the laptop to my WiFi. Then we connected via Zoom (first time for me, using that) and then were online together for the next two hours. He was in my system remotely, so he could see everything that was going on, and after I let him into my desktop, he copied over all my files, pictures, and music. He showed me around some of the programs.

During our chat, my signal dropped twice and I lost the connection. I asked him what this could be, and he said perhaps I should reboot my router. I did that after our talk, but then the next time I tried the laptop, the signal dropped again. My desktop is connected to my router via Ethernet cable, so the signal never drops, and it never drops on my cell phone either, so I couldn’t understand why this was happening. I spent some time on the phone with AT&T, and they said my router is fine and the connection is strong. So, that’s the next project with Zack — try to work out why the signal to the laptop is glitchy and how to strengthen it without using an Ethernet cable. But that will be later. Also, I want to try to figure out how to sync my laptop and desktop. I’m still keeping the latter, so I’d like to be able to have whatever I do on one happen on the other, if that’s possible. I have so much to learn. Oh, and my work table now has the desktop, laptop, and extra monitor on it, and it’s too crowded. So I’m shopping for a small side table I can use for the laptop. Oh, and accessories like a lap tray and a cooling pad. And and and… I’m getting ahead of myself. This is all so new and exciting.

Back to that night — after I said goodbye to Zack, I played around with the laptop for a while longer, adding my email accounts, choosing a desktop picture and screen saver, adding my MalwareBytes account. At 10 p.m., I was still so wound up I was shaking, and I realized I hadn’t eaten any dinner. I shut everything down, figuring I’d done all I could for one night, and grabbed a KIND bar and a yogurt. The next day I went to John’s, but I didn’t bring the laptop with me — I figured I wanted to give John all my attention and it would be waiting for me when I came home. John was as blown away by this as I was. I think he was a little disappointed that he didn’t get to buy it for me, and he confessed to being worried that our friends would think he was cheap or something because he didn’t do this first. I assured him that they all knew he had intended to, but they just did it sooner!

So. Even though the bulk of this year has been a clusterfuck, even with pandemics and elections and protests and fires and general mayhem happening all around me… I got a wonderful gift. No, not the laptop and the accessories, although those were indeed wonderful. I got the gift of feeling loved. Of knowing how many people care about me. I still can’t believe all the preparation that went into this. First, Jay painstakingly contacted as many people as she could think of, collected the funds, coordinated the messages, kept in touch with everyone with updates. Then Zack took over, getting the system, loading all the software, packing everything so thoroughly and carefully. (I was popping bubble wrap for a week.) It was a labor of love by all, and I still can’t believe I was the recipient. Even two weeks later, writing about this makes me choke up.

And yes, I’m typing up this blog on my new laptop.

In this awful time of isolation and uncertainty, I feel very much loved. I belong.

I love you, Jay. I love you, Zack. I love all of you who contributed to this. When I finally get all this stuff figured out, I hope to Zoom or FaceTime with some of you.

Although I haven’t worn makeup in months and I have about an inch of gray roots and maybe I don’t want people seeing me after all…

SHUT UP, ERICA!

Take care, everyone. Stay safe and well. ♥

 

[something goes here]

I haven’t written in over two weeks. Main reason? I don’t feel like I’ve had anything new or interesting to say. This sucks. But you know, life. All work and no play. Responsibilities. Deadlines. Stuff.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve had lots of subjects come up in my mind, things for random discussion, but then I’d get back to work and forget about them. And honestly, I shouldn’t be writing this now, but I felt the need for a break. So instead of elaborating on any of them, I’m just going to toss out some random thoughts here, and if any of you would like to pick up on one or more of them, please feel free.

1. Good tops are worth their weight in gold. The more stories I hear about the crappy ones (and the more I recall my own experiences with a few of them over the years), the more I appreciate the kind, considerate and thoughtful tops who know they hold our vulnerability in their hands and treat it well. ♥
2. I don’t regret my bad scene experiences. Luckily, I was not badly damaged by any of them, and I learned from them.
3. Always keep your instincts well honed. If things seem off, or too good to be true, then oftentimes that’s your gut trying to tell you something. People are not always what they seem to be.
4. (Here comes Granny Buzzkill) A moving car is not a toy. It’s a potentially lethal weapon. Horsing around in them, texting, speeding, isn’t funny; it’s utterly irresponsible. And to keep this on topic, no, it’s not a spanking offense. It warrants license suspension. Yeah, I know, I’m being a hard-ass. I will say this once and then never again — if you ever lose a loved one to a car accident, you will know where I’m coming from. Please. Just don’t.
5. Question: Why does a top who ended things with me keep checking out my profile on a kink site? I mean, what’s up with that? If he didn’t want anything more to do with me, why does he keep looking at me? (sigh) And yes, I’d welcome him back in a heartbeat were he to change his mind.
6. I am nervous AF about going back to a national party next month. Excited too, looking forward to seeing/meeting some people, but after a year off, it’s going to feel weird. I’m really not sure where my place is in these things, nowadays.
7. And finally, last but most definitely not least: My friend Jay has returned to blogging. Like me, she took a long break (hers was four years to my one). Like me, she’s trying to find her way back, find her people, dipping her toes back in and trying to get past some hard times. Please welcome her back, link her blog to your roll if it isn’t there already, and give her a read. I hope she will stick around.

Back to work with me. 🙂

What’s in a name?

Actually, quite a bit, if we’re talking about choices for scene/kink monikers. What prompted this? This week, I saw two of them that were such a turn-off, I wouldn’t even bother checking out the person behind them.

I’ve said before that I keep my profiles on the various kink sites, because I never know who’s out there and it never hurts to know more locals. I have many friends with whom I share TTWD, but so many of them are far away. One of said sites will sometimes email a notice to me if their algorithm somehow concludes that a potential match is brewing. So this week, I received this:

“Hey, Erica Scott! Have you met DrSausage? He’s ready to meet you!”

spraying coffee all over the screen  Dr. Sausage??? How does one get a doctorate in sausageology? Does the PhD stand for Perky Hard Dick?

When I tweeted about this, one of my friends cleverly replied, “But… he’s a doctor!” Which made me laugh. Suddenly, I was taken back over 30 years and remembering my mother, who had a dreadful habit of trying to fix me up. She’d attempted it many times, but her most egregious effort came one day when she called me and said I was going to be mad. I listened, feeling my blood pressure spike into emergency levels, while she told me about how she’d been at the beauty parlor that day and had struck up a conversation with a woman sitting next to her at the dryers. Turns out said woman had a single son. All my mother needed to hear was “single,” “Jewish,” and “doctor” — she didn’t even need a photo or any further description.

That’s right. She gave my phone number to this woman, who she’d known for about ten minutes. To give to her son, who she didn’t know at all.

I exploded. “How could you DO that?? You don’t know this woman! You don’t know her son! You don’t know anything about him — and you give my phone number to perfect strangers? And what kind of a man needs his mother to fix him up with unseen women?”

Her defense? “She seemed nice. And how bad could he be — he’s a doctor!”

Oy vey.

Yes, the guy called me, and I met him for coffee. Turned out he was cute, charming, funny and sexy, and we dated for a few years. And if you believe that, please allow me to sell you some magic beans.

Part of me was tempted to write to DrSausage and say, “Here I am, oh meaty one! Come and do your wurst!” But I decided against it.

And then, same week, I get, “Erica Scott, someone just checked you out!” I looked to see who it was.

GrannyLover.

Just shoot me now. No, wait. Shoot HIM. Yeah, I get it. He likes older women. But there needs to be a little finesse here.

News flash, pal. I don’t usually presume to speak for all women, but I’m making an exception here. There isn’t a woman on this entire f&#%ing planet who would find it a compliment, within a sexual and/or kink realm, to be referred to as “Granny.” “Mommy,” yes. I can certainly see that, even though it’s not my thing. But “Granny”? NO. What’s she going to do, bake you cookies until you beg for mercy? Knit you some ankle restraints?

I wanted to write to GrannyLover and attach a charming picture I found of a prim and proper white-haired grandma flipping the bird. But I decided against that as well.

Just another week in the life of a spanko. Have a great weekend, y’all.

OT: Car problems, eye woes, and makeovers

Sorry I’ve been MIA, everyone, but it’s been a strange, hectic week with nothing fun, kink-wise, to post. So please bear with me while I give an off-topic ramble of an update.

In the “only you, Erica” file, we have last Saturday night. I was at John’s, and we were walking in the town square. There are always plenty of people out with their dogs, and I love dogs. So I have made a habit of stopping and petting them whenever it’s feasible. (I always ask the owner first.) I seem to have a knack with dogs, as they’re usually responsive to me. Anyway, we saw a young woman with a bull terrier (I don’t know if you can picture one; they are not really large dogs, but they have distinctively shaped large heads). I crouched down and began petting him, and he hunkered down on the sidewalk, wagging his tail furiously. After a bit, I stopped and started to get back up, and I guess he got excited, not wanting the petting to stop. So, as I was bent over him, he suddenly and very quickly lunged upward… and the top of his head slammed into my left eye.

The dog was fine. I, however. was seeing stars. I had my glasses on; I don’t know if that helped absorb the blow or made it worse. At least they didn’t break, thank goodness. My eye didn’t swell or turn red or anything, it just hurt. I figured it would be OK. The owner was very apologetic, BTW.

But the next day, I wasn’t OK. I could see, but I had floaters and flashers in my left eye like I’ve never had before. It looked like clumps of dust were swirling around in my vision, moving in every direction I looked. So that night, I called my HMO’s after-hours number, spoke to an advice nurse, and he said I should try to get in to see an eye doctor the next day (Monday). Easier said than done with my HMO, of course, but after long waits and two call-backs, I had an appointment at 2:00.

Good news… I do not have a detached retina, which requires laser surgery and can lead to blindness if not attended. I do have what is officially known as vitreous detachment — which, in laymen’s terms, is floaters. A big new crop of them, due to this trauma. The doc dilated my eyes and performed several tests; said my retina was fine. There’s nothing that can be done about floaters; they come with age anyway, but this blow really exacerbated the situation. He told me one of two things will happen: this latest batch will fade away in time (could be three to six months), or I’ll get used to them. (sigh)

“Oh, and your vision will be blurry and you’ll be sensitive to light for the next four-five hours,” he added. “How am I supposed to drive home?” I blurted. He said I could if I had sunglasses, which I did. I was supposed to drop my car off to the shop, which was just a couple of blocks away from the hospital, to get a smog certificate for renewing my registration. But, in my distracted state, I forgot the damn DMV document I was supposed to bring… so, with badly impaired vision, I had to drive all the way home and then all the way back to the mechanic. Not my day.

It got better. After I got home — unable to do any work because I couldn’t see — my mechanic called me. Long story short, I went in just to get a freaking smog check and oil change, and it turned out I’m due for a bunch of other maintenance services. Oh, and my right side view mirror holder is broken, and the entire contraption is hanging by a wire. (I knew that; I just kept shoving it back in place.) He can get a replacement from the dealer, but it will be black, not silver, so he’d have to take it to the body shop and get them to match the paint, which would make it cost a lot more. Or… I could get TWO new mirrors, both in black, so they’ll match. Fine. Whatever. Order the fucking things and just fix it.

Steve couldn’t come by Tuesday, and I had no car, so that gave me a full day at home to catch up on work, considering I’d lost so much time on Monday. Got my car at 8:00 that evening; it cost me $1060. Oh well. It’s only money, right?

Onto Wednesday. I needed a break. My workload wasn’t huge, and Alex and SC and I had planned to go to Sephora to get makeovers. (Sephora is a well-known beauty shop with copious skin products, and they are famous for their mini-makeovers. They’re also famous for their high prices. But the makeovers are $50 — if you don’t buy anything — and I had my $50 gift card from Steve, so I figured I’d go for it.) Mind you, I am incredibly unsophisticated when it comes to makeup. I use drug store products. I hate foundation. I never use eye shadow, and I’ve never even tried brow pencil. So I figured I’d learn some new tricks, if nothing else, and would look really smashing for a couple of hours!

So we met at the mall, had lunch, and then headed to Sephora — SC and I had our appointments at 1:00, and then Alex at 2:00. It was a fun process, sitting and having the technician fuss over our faces, transforming them. They ask you what you’d like to focus on, what your preferences are, etc. I said I wanted a polished look overall on my skin, without caking on foundation, and I wanted to see what really done up eyes would look like. Oh, and cover-up for my under-eye bags/circles. Products, products, products — I don’t think I’ve ever had so much makeup on my face. Contouring, priming, shadowing, highlighting. But the finished look was… wow. I looked like me, and yet not. I kept trying to get a decent selfie, and even SC tried to get a couple of shots for me, but I didn’t like any of them. So, I kept the one I found the least objectionable. Ready? Look at Ms. Glamour…

SC and Alex looked stunning, of course. We took a shot of the three of us, but I’d have to block out SC’s gorgeous face, so there’s no point in posting it.

So… here’s where they get ya. You see these results, and you’re hypnotized. Oooh! I want this! and this! and this! I bought only a quarter of the stuff she used on me… and still spent about $140. (Only $90, deducting Steve’s gift card. They don’t charge you for the makeover if you buy $50 or more of products.) And you know what? There’s no way I’m going to be able to reproduce this on my own. But… I guess it won’t kill me to have some decent products. Although I must confess, she did a lousy job on the under-eye concealer. She put a ton of it on… and later that afternoon, I glanced in a mirror and was disconcerted to see that it had settled and caked into my wrinkles, emphasizing them like a beacon. Ack! There has to be a concealer out there that doesn’t do that!

The three of us shopped around for the rest of the afternoon — SC had also brought replacements for the corset she’d bought that was too big for me. They didn’t have the same one in my size, so she actually bought two others and brought them for me to choose! So we had a fashion show in the mall restroom. 🙂 They were both gorgeous, but one fit a bit better than the other.

Got home around six, and got a few hours of work done. I had planned to go to the gym after our expedition, but I was too wiped out.

Funny side note: when it came time to take the makeup off, I went through two Neutrogena makeup remover cloths and one Eye-Q makeup remover pad, and scrubbed my face in the shower with soap and water, and yet when I was drying off, I still had raccoon rings under my eyes, so I used another Eye-Q pad on them. The next morning, I used some toner on a cotton ball and swiped it over my face… and it came up completely saturated with brown. For God’s sake — how do women who wear this s#$% all the time get their skin clean??

Anyway. My car is well. My bank account is depleted. My eye is driving me nuts; it definitely makes my work a bit more challenging, seeing crud float in front of my eye while I’m staring at the computer. So I take breaks often. This too shall pass, I hope. Who else do you know who has been head-butted by a dog??

Have a great weekend, y’all.

And so it goes

She lives.

Been a rough patch, certainly. Sunday night I got email from my stepmother. We don’t keep in regular contact, as we’re both reclusive, so I hadn’t talked to her for a while. Imagine how I felt when she told me she’d nearly died. Apparently, she’d been feeling sick and nauseated with stomach pain for a couple of months, and her doctor was treating her for what he thought was an ulcer. Things worsened until she ended up in the ER, and an MRI showed she had gallstones that had migrated to several places, occluding a duct to her bladder and causing a widespread infection. So… surgery to remove the gall bladder, find all the stones and get rid of them as well, and put a stent in her bladder duct.

Six to eight weeks recovery, with a lot of pain and nausea. And then she gets to have surgery again to remove the stent, with another long recovery. She’s 85 years old, kids. She’s already dealing with a host of physical problems, including various food sensitivities and chronic sciatica. To quote her: “This sucks!” And how much can a body take before it gives out?

She was writing to me to apologize that we won’t be able to go out for my (upcoming) birthday lunch. I told her to please not worry about that. I wish I could do something for her, but I know how fiercely independent she is. She doesn’t want to be fussed over.

So, Monday and yesterday were raw. Monday, I had a chiropractor appointment… I’ve been a mess of tension and aches. I wasn’t my usual feisty self on the table; I didn’t gripe about the painful stuff he was doing, I got into the positions he asked, I was very passive. His comment? “You’re very compliant today. What’s wrong with you?” How well he knows me already.

Yesterday, Steve came over. We did not play; I was too despondent. All I did was crawl into his arms and cry on his shirt.

But the fog has to lift eventually. Life and work go on. Fake it till you make it and all that new age-y sh*t. I’ve worked. I’ve worked out. And I figured I’d make some attempt to post something here, so everyone wouldn’t think I’d disappeared into the ether.

So pardon me if this is disjointed; it’s simply a collection of random thoughts.

Yesterday I was playing Scrabble online, and this screen appeared. I swear, I did not create this, I didn’t rearrange any letters; it happened randomly. It made me giggle.

I remembered another snippet from the party. After my lengthy scene with Ulf, during aftercare, I impulsively said, “Let me see your hand.” I just had a feeling… he turned up his palm. Sure enough, I’d thoroughly assed his hand — a blood blister and several red streaks. He was incredulous; said he hadn’t been aware of it at all.

Looks like this granny has still got it, huh?

Another random tidbit — I haven’t cut my hair in months. Usually, I get it cut and colored every six to eight weeks, but the last two times I got color, I didn’t cut it. It is the longest it’s been in years. John loves it, Steve loves it. I have mixed feelings about it.

I have never had sleek, sophisticated, polished hair. It’s just not me, and I wouldn’t even know how to style it that way. Once my hairdresser gave me a sleek blowout, and it felt so foreign and “not me” that I couldn’t wait to wash it out. I don’t put it up, because I hate my ears and don’t show them. So, for better or worse, my hair is big and wild. On the one hand, having it past my shoulders and down my back feels very sexy. But on the other, the ghost of my mother is in my head. “You’re too old for long hair.” “You need to style your hair somehow.” And, my favorite: “When are you going to do something about those rags hanging around your face?”

Tomorrow I’m getting my hair colored… I’m considering letting the cut go, again. Just to break away from the judgment of a “woman of a certain age” growing her hair long. I’m sorry, Mom… I love you, but STFU already. Get out of my head.

Took this selfie yesterday. What do you guys think? Grow it, or cut it back a bit?

Finally… people tell me they like this blog because it’s real, because it’s honest. Well, in the spirit of honesty, I have a confession. I do photo-edit my pictures a little. Not a whole lot; I don’t know how to do anything fancy. I don’t have Photoshop, I just have a simple program with the basics. So I’ll erase bags under my eyes, or blur out those damned spots on my arms and legs. A little indulgence of my vanity.

But, you want real? Here is real. This is from yesterday. No photo-editing, no makeup, straight from the camera except for cropping and resizing. This is my depression face. It’s not pretty, but it’s me.

This is what Steve saw. He said I was beautiful. I think he’s crazy, but I love him for it.

Onward. There is work to be done. And this body won’t exercise itself, no matter how much I wish it would.

Hopefully some fun on-topic stuff soon. We’ll see.

What the…????

OK. This may seem off-topic, but it sorta is on topic. I am sharing the worst, the creepiest commercial ever. I have no idea what the creators were thinking, but because of my particular proclivities, I don’t find it amusing, just gross.

It’s for a new line of frozen foods. Some nerdy guy is on his lunch break, off by himself. He is so, er, enamored of his macaroni and cheese with bacon, he’s talking to it. Not just talking to it — he’s crooning to it, in a manner that suggests he wants to dig something else into it beside his eating utensil.

But wait… it gets worse. Take a look.

WTF? Say it with me, kids… EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

If this guy existed in real life, I’d say he should go ahead and have kinky sex with his lunch. Because there ain’t no real-life woman anywhere who would go near him.

Bleccch. And I thought reading about skin tears and pressure ulcers was cringe-worthy.

OK, let’s hear it. What do you guys think of this? Don’t worry if you like it. You’re still welcome here. 😀