TSA confiscated my personal lubricant.

Since I've already posted that even my mother knows I'm sexually active, it doesn't seem like too much of a stretch for a TSA agent to be privy to that information. Last Sunday, when I was going through security at Newark Airport, I got into an argument with the on-duty lead TSA agent over that fact that I was not permitted to take my personal lubricant on-board the aircraft in my carry-on luggage.
"I am permitted to carry up four ounces of personal lubricant in my carry-on luggage."
He stared at me and held up my half-used tube of Astroglide. He started talking over me before I finished my sentence.
"This is not considered essential medication. You cannot take this on the plane."
"That's fine, but according to YOUR website, it says that I CAN take it on the plane. If you didn't want me to have it, then you need to update your website to reflect that."
"Our website does not say that-"
"Yes, it DOES."
"You can only take essential medication. This is not essential." He waved the purple tube around.
"Look, I know that it's bizarre! I don't know why your website says this, but it does. Throw it out, I don't care. But this is what the TSA regs say on the website."
"It does not say this."
"You're wrong." I stared at him. "Check your website."
And because my heart was pounding and I was worried I was going to get detained, I grabbed my bag and stalked off.

And here's the proof: http://www.tsa.gov/travelers/airtravel/prohibited/permitted-prohibited-items.shtm
Ctrl+F: lubricant.
In case, TSA changes it, here's the pdf version of it.

God, even now, I'm still pissed off. I'm kicking myself because I had the printout but I left it at FatBastard's apartment earlier.
It's probably better this way. I would have gotten detained, but at least I might have gotten on Jon Stewart as the girl who got in a fight with a TSA agent over a bottle of lube. But I would have gotten a lot of sympathy from all the women out there who've had their carmex and lipglosses confiscated. As though that matters. I'm just going to start stuffing my chapstick and little bottles of shampoo down my pants. I'm pretty sure the only reason TSA says these rules are so effective is because it shortens the lines at security, cuz fewer people of taking carry-on luggage and are checking it. then TSA can just rummage through my panties and delicates in baggage check. Assholes.

My mom knows I'm a ho.

My mom sat me and my sister down and gave us the "talk". You know, the

Are-you-having-sex-if-you-are-are-you-using-protection talk. I'd like to point out the respective ages of my and my sister: 25. 32. The conversation was started because I had told her that I was going to visit FatBastard-boyfriend in Jersey, and obviously staying at his apartment unchaperoned. I never told my parents when FatBastard would come visit, or when I was visiting him, so my parents had actually come to the conclusion that we didn't even like each other that much, because we apparently never saw each other.

Anyways, the talk was uncomfortable, but it was actually a relief to not have to hide it anymore. Then my mom chastised me and gave me sexual protection advice, which I will not elaborate on, but I'm sure you all can guess.

Later, I told FatBastard about the conversation. There was a pause, and then a few seconds of laughter sputtering through his nose. "Your mom knows you're a skank!" Followed by eight solid minutes of roaring laughter, the kind where he hyperventilates at the end, puncuating each inhale with another gasp of laughter.

tired

I worked a really long day today. 930am - 1130pm. I'm pooped. the odd this is that when I came home i felt this peculiary but reassuring feeling, like I had emptied myself like a vessel into something, and I felt grateful and exhilirated about it. I can't capture what that feeling was now. I felt spent, but that the energy wasn't wasted. Then, whatever good, tired feeling that was, I killed it with tv and alcohol. and I can't get that feeling back.

Borat Movie trailer way better than Talladega Nights

Praztitute and I went to watch Talladega Nights. It's fair to say that ONE way of judging how funny a movie is is by the number of lines you repeat after the movie is over. Anchorman, Dodgeball, Zoolander, I could go on. Anyways, we saw the trailer for Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan (see the trailer). It was love at first sight. We were quoting Borat all through the remainder of the previews. Talladega Nights: not so much. Kinda disappointed in Will Ferrell.

Sweet vs. Kind

I noticed something earlier this week : I really get irritated by the word "sweet", as "He/She is so sweet." It's an incredibly banal meaningless word.
"Oh, you know Heather? She's very sweet."
Translation: I've interacted with this person many times, but I've never seen her in a stressful situation which would allow me to assess her personality or character in any meaningful way.

The fact is, sweet is equivalent to nice, but neither equates with kind. Kind implies that you've seen the person behave nicely under duress. Sweet is basically a fair-weather nice.

But I digress.

I've got a new phrase I think I'm gonna bust out more often: "You're BLOWING my MIIIIIIIIND."