Vibrators and Debit Cards

One of my more memorable experiences this past year was buying my first vibrator - in person - at an actual sex store.

There I am in the sex store trying to look around and make sure nobody I know is in there too. Why that was such a big deal makes no sense to me. Say you see your neighbor or one of your kid's grade school teachers - wouldn't the embarrassment be mutual? I'm pretty sure most people would pretend they didn't see you and hope you didn't see them.

Then I looked around again and saw all the stuff. 

Holy mother trucker there is a crap load of stuff in a sex store. If it wasn't so damn embarrassing to be there, I could have wandered around for hours. It would be like trying to figure out all the different kinds of gadgets at the hardware store, but instead I would be trying to figure out all the different kinds of fetishes at the sex store.

I wandered around trying to find what I was looking for. I knew exactly which one I wanted because I checked them out on-line.

Of course I researched on-line first! Doesn't everybody research their appliance purchases?

I was kind of slinking around the store but couldn't find it. The perky young clerk took pity on me and asked me if I needed any help. The normal me would be all No, I'm just browsing but for real, is it any more embarrassing to be browsing in a sex store than it is to be there for something specific?

So I asked her if they had any of the We Vibes left. Preferably the ones that were on a clearance sale, because bargains are awesome. The clearance sale ones were gone (of course) so I had to take the newer, full priced model.

Perky leaves me in the care of another clerk, who had to have been the youngest looking boy ever. I mean I know getting older has skewed my ability to judge age, but there is no effing way that boy could even legally buy booze.

Yet there he is. Waiting on me. In a sex shop. And here my MILF went and passed it's "best before" date about a decade ago. I felt bad for the poor boy. Seriously, the only job that could possibly put bigger damper on a guy's sex drive would be pursuing a career in gynecology.

Baby boy clerk asks me if I need any toy shampoo. WTF? Toy shampoo? I was just gonna use some dish soap and call it good enough. So no, I don't want any toy shampoo, especially when I had to buy the newer full priced model.

Baby boy clerk rang up my purchase and gave me the total.

Now I'm a debit card girl. Where most women would whip out their Visa and holler CHARGE!, I politely say debit please. I've noticed over the years that a five dollar purchase will take a lot longer to process than say, buying a fridge and stove with your debit card - which I've done by the way.

So the baby boy puts the transaction through and it went through lickety split. I made a comment about the big ones going faster. He blushed and started babbling about the warranty.

Then he looked at me and said Oh, you meant the debit transaction! 

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Mangoes And Poison Ivy - Who Knew?

I do NOT like mango. One time my mother handed me a piece of mango and said "here try this". I am positive it's the meanest thing she ever did to me.

I couldn't spit that shit out fast enough. In fact, I spit it out so fast I can't even tell you what the texture was like, but I can tell you about the taste. It was like having a mouth full of bad breath. Like that smell that was in the borrowed recorder you were forced to try and play in grade school music class, because sure as shit your mom wouldn't buy you your own. Something about 10 bucks being too much to spend on a musical instrument when it was obvious to all there wasn't an ounce of musical talent in me.

You can kind of understand why I don't buy these delicacies right? But I guess the oldest likes them and he bought himself a half dozen of these nasty bad breath tasting fruits.

He has eaten three of them. Then he broke out in a mysterious blistering rash on his lips.

Being enormously germophobic and having a new girlfriend - his first concern was cold sores. Really? I had always assumed he made her cover her mouth with a dental dam before he would kiss her.

If it were a case of cold sores - it would be the most epic herpes infection ever. We are talking the complete surface area of his lips covered in blisters.

Being also enormously hypochondriac - he researched this mystery rash. Surprisingly he hasn't concluded he is dying tomorrow, BUT he did find out that the same thing that causes the rash he gets prolifically when exposed to poison ivy is also in mango peel.

We have 3 mangoes left - anyone want some bad breath to eat?

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My New Year's Pledge

I've never kept a New Year's Resolution - ever. So instead this year I'm making a New Year's Pledge.

I pledge to quit living for the life I want and start living the one I have. 

For the past four years I have focused too much of my time and energy in trying to build a partnership with a man who isn't ready to take that step. At the end of each year, I've been a year older, my kids have been a year closer to independence and I've been just as far away from my dreams as I was at the beginning of the year. I'm not doing that anymore.

Instead I will occasionally join my guys in their never ending verbal sparring, and when I do we will laugh together or maybe even yell at each other. Sometimes there may even be a bit of wrestling - it's the boy version of a hug. There may be curses and vulgarities strewn about when we're done, maybe even some furniture. It's who we are and it won't be much longer that they are here every day driving my nuts with their bickering.

I will attempt to maintain some order in my home but I won't worry that I'm only just keeping my head above water (or laundry) because tomorrow sure as shit there will be more to do. Instead I'll do what I can while still unapologetically taking time to do what I love. If you need me to spell it out for you - I don't love housework.

When I need to work a ridiculous amount of hours because that's my job, I'll do it and celebrate the independence piling up in my bank account. When enough of it has piled up I'll start looking by myself for a home I can love. Who says I have to wait for someone to make a home with me, because going by the last 20 years, I'm pretty sure I can do that all on my own.

I'll still hope for that partnered life. One where I can share all of life's ups and downs with somebody else and their shoulder is always there. A life where I have a partner to tackle the trivial and mundane stuff that happens every day, and at the end of the day we’ll crawl into bed together and do it all over again tomorrow. I'll even still hope that someday he will be that partner.

Until then I will pledge to fully live this crazy chaotic life that is mine.

Snow And Other Four Letter Words

I am so not a fan of snow. I mean sure it's fun if it happens on a Sunday and you can round up some kids to go sledding. It can be fun if you've got a snowmobile and you get to rip through some fields. Even Cross-Country skiing is a pleasurable activity.

The general everyday reality of it though? Meh, not so much.

Shoveling snow, with snot dripping down your face and sweat dripping into your ass crack whilst wheezing like an old tom cat? Meh, not so much. 

Brushing snow off of your car, scraping ice or worse trying to thaw out frozen doors? Meh, not so much. 

I get that winter comes just like spring, summer and fall. I get that I only have to tolerate it for a little while. But this year, it's different. It's worse. 

It's worse because I have a young adult driving now. Driving a pickup truck - because that is the second least practical winter vehicle you can own. The first being a motorcycle. 

He's an aggressive driver, and not particularly experienced. He's already totaled one truck - and that was in perfect driving conditions. 

We also don't see a lot of snow, so a little bit of snow on the road provides a lot of drivers that are inexperienced with driving in it. Now combine an aggressive, inexperienced driver with a bunch of overly cautious drivers. 

I can't wait for spring. 

Now I Feel Like Coming Over

Last night I had an urge to do the unforgivable and let my dog sleep in bed with me. I was feeling just lonely enough that the company and the big body against my back would have been welcome.

I know there are plenty of people who think letting their dog sleep with them is just fine. I'm not one of them.

I mean sure, right now there's no 2 legged man sleeping in my bed (no 3 legged pole vaulter visiting it either) so it seems like no big deal to let the 4 legged one in right? Wrong.

The dog easily has another 10 years in his life span and I sure as hell don't intend to spend the next 10 years with only a dog for company. Having a big body snuggled against your back sounds cozy, but in my experience you usually end up with 4 big paws against your back trying to push your ass off of your own damn bed.

A dog in bed when there's other things to do there is just a mood wrecker. They watch for one thing. Plus they start thinking you are play wrestling and want to get in on the action - hopefully just the wrestling. Next thing you know someone gets a cold nose on their bare ass and the giggling starts.

Once the giggling starts, well you may as well forget all about having some fun because I have yet to meet a penis that can stand proud once the giggling starts. Penises are pretty sensitive like that. You can try to convince a penis you weren't laughing at it, but they seldom believe you.

Anyhow, all this talk of penises and loneliness - I guess it's time to go spend a night at the boyfriends. Unless he has other plans, in which case there's still #wineparty.

The Most Ridiculous Thing I Heard Today

So Swinger Dude is back from his four day party. Sorry I've got no details to share. No, wait a minute, I'm thrilled I have no details to share.

Except that I guess spending your holidays at a swinger party makes for some sort of post holiday let down. So see! Swinger Dude isn't so different from the rest of us.

My co-supervisor took the supreme sacrifice of asking Swinger Dude what was bothering him. Really - this is a huge sacrifice - on par with say giving up chocolate, coffee and booze all in the same week.

Swinger Dude's chosen rant of the moment? He's convinced that Scooter (not his real name of course) is gay and has been giving him the "eyes". This is sheer ridiculousness on so many levels.

Just for starters if Scooter were gay, I hardly think that Swinger Dude would fit anybody's idea of hot - male, female, gay or hetero. Just sayin.

Then there's the fact that Scooter was probably at some point in the birthing process deprived of oxygen. He has some physical signs and he's a little delayed. For all of this? There's one thing Scooter loves more than anything. Pretty girls. We have to be careful who we have him work with because if they are too pretty he'll spend his time blushing and flirting instead of working. But you know what? Scooter shows up for work EVERY DAY. He does the most boring jobs day in and day out and yet he still shows up for work the next day. He drives his e-bike to work in most weather, gets chased by a damn German Shepherd and shows up to work.

So as far as the "eyes" go that's probably just instinctive self preservation - as in when is this firecracker gonna blow. Because if there's one thing Scooter can't do, it's hiding his feelings for a crush.

The real irony here? Who is Swinger Dude to judge anyhow?

So no Swinger Dude, I will NOT be giving Scooter a warning.

Show and Tell - Please Skip The Show Next Time

We had snow so of course I was running late this morning, but still the first thing I did was check the attendance line. So two people calling in sick. Okay we can manage that. Except that one of those people is another persons ride. So scratch 3 people, plus the one who asked to have the day off and was denied. So now we're minus 4.

Next thing you know? One of the remaining workers comes up to me to tell me he's very sick.

Apparently he thought I needed physical evidence, so he showed me the trash can with his vomit.

What can I say - my life rocks!

A Mostly Perfect Day

Today was my idea of a perfect day. I slept until 10am, and twelve hours later I am still in my pajamas.

I even managed to capture this syrupy sweet aawh moment.

All of the guy's new boxers, socks, and sleep pants are washed. The youngest even folded his own shit. Too bad he's not the biggest contributor to the laundry.

For future reference all boxers recieved as presents will be photographed and tagged with the owners name. Then I will print a poster of whose drawers are whose. It's the only way I'll ever be able to keep the effing things straight.

We had snow here. On Christmas Eve and today. I haven't moved my car since Christmas Eve and the window was open. Good news though - there was still a towel on the seat from the last time it rained and the window was down. So dry ass tomorrow = life is good! Plus the car starts so bonus all the way around.

I shoveled off the deck - in my pajamas. Never underestimate the insulative properties of a padded push up bra. Shovelling snow without one brings new meaning to colder than a witch's tit. Socks might have been good too. Possibly boots - only those are still out on the deck from the last time I cut the grass and now they are full of snow.

Also worth noting - sitting on the computer all day does not make for efficient circulation. So gloves would have been handy to have but even though my guys are older, like all kids they lose my shit which makes me lose my shit.

On the topic of losing my shit I also went to the shed to get an extension cord for my block heater.

Who the eff wound up my extension cord like that? It sure wasn't me because I always do nice big loops so I don't wind up with a twisty tangly pile of garbage. My eldest has a long way to go before I'm granting the official Mom Approved Guy Card. Just saying.

I Meant It When I Said It

I`m positive I am dating the only man on earth who is consistently early.

So the day went with me finally getting my peace and quiet and doing complicated bloggy things, like making a follow me button for twitter.

At 1, I get a text - what time? I tell him 4:30ish. At 3, I get another text - are you sure the kids are going? Then a phone call at 3:30 - if they're already at their dad's maybe they're driving themselves? Then a text at 4:25 - are you ready?

He picked me up at exactly 4:30, which is progress since it wasn't 3:30.

And we stop at the store for cigarettes (yes, I realize it's a filthy habit) and I get enough to last through tomorrow too.

Me: Yesss, now I can stay in my PJ's until it's time to go back to bed again.

Boyfriend: You aren't coming over?

Me: No. I told you how much I was looking forward to having two non-work days of waking up in my own bed.

Boyfriend: You have all day to sit around in your PJ's

Me: Exactly!

It isn't as if I would turn him away should he decide to show up here.

Not The First Time

So the truth is this is not my first time around the blogging block. I already had a blog that was starting to collect a very modest following. But it wasn't letting me be all of me for a lot of reasons.

The first time around, I was so anxious to gain any kind of following that I was chasing my family to read it. Then I would post something and they would comment. With their first and last names and as relatives - somehow making it obvious we were related and what that relationship was. Then I would be up all night reading back through posts because I am paranoid about keeping my on-line life seperate from my real life.

The first time around, I tried to wear a persona when I was posting. Only some days I didn't feel like putting that persona on. So I didn't post. Sometimes for a long time I didn't post. The first time around was all about crusty exterior - only some days I'm gooey centre - only never the orange cream kind `cause I hate that shit.

The first time around, I had a rigid format and what I wanted to say didn't always work with it. And like trying to make up your own lyrics to a song, if the words don't fit right they jangle instead of jingle.

This time around? I feel like a whole lot of possibilities are in front of me and it's all new and exciting. I think it's gonna fit.

Hey! Can I Get Some Quiet Here?

It's probably wrong of me to admit this but....

I can't wait until the guys leave to go to their Dad's for Christmas. I know I'm a horrible person. I mean who wants to be alone on Christmas Day. Me. Not for the whole day, just a little bit of it.

I get so few opportunities to do as I wish, and when they are home they have this radar. Radar that tells them that I'm about to immerse myself in something that I enjoy. Radar that lets them know how easy it is to distract me and interrupt the flow of my thoughts.

Being a loner my entire life has left me with the ability to lose myself in my own thoughts for hours at a time. I often prefer the inner dialogue to what's happening around me. So yeah, being constantly pulled out of my thoughts and then ignored as soon as they've accomplished their mission pisses me off endlessly.

I used to just stay up late and enjoy the quiet after they were sleeping, but I'm getting old and they are almost adults so I can't do this as much as I used to. Yet my soul still needs this quiet time.

Maybe it's time to start listening to music again. Pearl Jam so that I can't hear them bickering in the background. Some Garbage that will mute the oldest trying to walk on his hands in the living room. Maybe a little bit of  Everlast to cover up the endless trips to the fridge. Kings of Leon to distract me from the possibilities of what the hell is going on out there! Nine Inch Nails to work off the irritation that something will probably get broken. A bit of Sheryl Crow to mellow my mood.

Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do. Either that or start smoking weed.

 

It's Christmas Eve and I Meant What I Said

Tonight was our family dinner. The one for immediate family, the boyfriend and his kids. All went well even though I had to be at work for 5 am today and worked until 4pm. Lot's of advance preparation - and somehow I managed to fit 3 lasagna's in the fridge for overnight.

So at the end of the evening the boyfriend asks me if I'm coming over as he's getting ready to leave.

Well no, of course I'm not going to your house. It's Christmas Eve. I don't care if my kids are no longer kids. I'm not ditching them on Christmas Eve. Never mind that I've been awake since 3:30 am to be at work on time today. So yeah, I'm kinda tired and I still have to wrap and prep Christmas for my kids - even though they aren't kids anymore.

There's also the fact that boyfriend was pretty bluntly told that I was looking forward to having two mornings in a row of waking up in my own house on a non-work day. As opposed to the alternative of waking up at his house and eventually making my way home wearing last nights panties.

Sometimes Mother's Do That

Last night my mom called to wish me a happy birthday. I mentioned that my employer had given us all one hundred dollar gift cards.

Mom: So are they ever going to give you enough time off to spend it?

She has a way of doing that sometimes. Making me feel as if I have to defend myself for taking pleasure in something.

My employer pays me for every hour I work, that is the only compensation any employee is entitled to. So yes sometimes a little more time away from my job would be nice but to give every employee such a generous gift is something I can appreciate.

That and the pleasure of knowing I have a hundred dollars to spend as I wish.

I Guess The Honeymoon Is Over

Last night I arrive at the Boyfriends.

Boyfriend: I'm not feeling so hot, I'm ready for bed.

As I'm pouring my first beverage of the evening

Me: I just got here, I'm not ready for bed yet. You are looking a little green though.

Boyfriend: I'm feeling a little green

Me: Okay, I'll finish this drink and head home.

Boyfriend: What? You aren't staying over?

Me: Not if you're going to bed at 8. I'm not tired and I'll be bored. Besides, I have my period so it isn't as if we can do anything exciting.

And that's what I did last night. How about you?

Asshattery At Work

If you don't know who Swinger Dude is you need to pour yourself a drink and then go here first. Okay now go have your drink, I'm sure you need it, and then go here.

Are you back? Sorry about that by the way - we're still friends right?

Alrighty then. So Swinger dude has a different idea of how the holidays should be celebrated. His idea of the perfect Holiday Celebration is to attend a sex party. Now I'm sure there's another name for these things, but hey we're all small town folk and well, it's just kinda icky so we don't really mind being dorks on this one.

The day starts with me, The Comedian, and Shakespeare all working together. The Comedian is new to the place so the conversation goes something like this.

The Comedian: So Swinger dude was telling me all about his big weekend plans. Something about a sex party. 

Shakespeare and I laugh (a little bit guilty on my part since as much as I want to I really can't warn people about Swinger dude. Or at least I haven't figured out how to work it into a conversation.)

The Comedian: Who talks about stuff like that at work? And really, if he's so into it why isn't the guy in porn doing what he loves? 

The Comedian: Seriously, if that was me and I had the equipment for it I'd be in movies making money, but I got stuck with the white man’s package. 

Me: Okay, but Swinger dude starring in a porno would be like Jack Black starring in a porno. 

The Comedian: Exactly!

Shakespeare and The Comedian are laughing their asses off. Me? I'm laughing and gagging. Yeah I know I said it, but seriously didn't you just vomit a little bit in your mouth picturing Jack Black in a porno?

At this point Swinger dude comes over to us.

Swinger dude: Would you mind covering your mouth when you sneeze?

Swinger dude does his blah, blah, blah thing and then leaves.

Me: Did I sneeze? Because I only remember laughing, gagging and in general trying not to piss myself. 

The Comedian: My wife has an issue with that. One morning I was just getting ready to leave for work and she pulls in the driveway. So I asked her why she was home. 

The Comedians Wife: I pissed my pants on the way to work. So I told the supervisor I forgot something at home. 

The Comedian: But seriously, someone should get S&M dude a big chocolate dick for Christmas since he's such a dick. 

I tried to find a picture to go here but Google would only give me pictures of real dicks so now I'm feeling a little vomity again.

At this point Swinger dude wants to get in on the party since we're all having so much fun. The conversation turns to cars and car engines and I drift away since the other two are pretty much stuck standing there listening to him. I mean really the best way to save yourself is to trip whoever is with you right?

Finally Swinger dude heads back to his work area and I head back to the real conversation.

The Comedian: You know, my step-son is seriously into cars and I'd love to take Swinger dude there sometime. I think he'd really enjoy it.

Me: Yeah, but you would have to take him with blindfold and a hood over his head so he could never find his way back. 

The Comedian: Well my step-son he's a pretty laid back guy. You know he's about 6 feet tall. 

The Comedian: Okay so it would be a really bad idea to take Swinger dude there. My step-son might not be too happy with me.

The Comedian's Step-Son: Hey, you wanna come get your buddy? I've tried everything but the dude just won't take a hint and leave.

Me: Isn't it terrible? Seriously, I've had the guy follow me to the washroom and wait outside the door so he can keep on talking when I come out.

Shakespeare: It doesn't matter what you do, he just keeps talking.

Me: It's like he just doesn't see the desperation to get away on people’s faces.

Me: I've tried not making eye contact. I've tried turning away from him and talking to someone else. He. Just. Doesn't. Get. It.

The Comedian: Seriously Half Assed, there should be a section in the Employee Handbook about this guy. 

1. Do Not make eye contact.
2. Do Not ask him what his plans are for the weekend.
3. Do Not mention cars unless you are really into cars. 

Me: He does have his uses. If you are ever racing someone for the bathroom and they're winning? Tell them Swinger dude was in there. They'll turn around and walk away.

Shakespeare: Break time is taking forever to get here.

Me: What? You're not enjoying this conversation. 

Shakespeare: I laughed so much, now I'm hungry.

How To Make Simple Complicated

So I work in a tomato packhouse, with a guy who is a swinger and maybe a submissive. Not that this is a flaw, unless of course he shares details. Which he did. Swinger dude is also the most aggravating human I have ever met. I now get to spend more time with with him 6 days a week than I do my family.

Swinger dude also loves to brag about his IQ of 140. Which means nothing to me, since it's not as if he's building rockets or curing cancer - dude, you work in a packhouse so you are NOT a genius.

We spend so much time at work that as much as possible I like to get along and encourage people by commenting on their positive contributions, especially after any reprimands - which Swinger dude requires almost daily. The reprimands that is. NOT the flattery since the little fucker's ego already outweighs him by a couple of hundred pounds.

Once, only once I made the mistake of saying that Swinger dude could look at a box and know the count instantly. This is what came of that comment.

Cue up the Law & Order music just because I hear it in my head every time I read that last sentence.

Some of our product is shipped in 15lb boxes. Before packaging each individual piece is graded by weight and then depending on the weight a set number are put in a box. 

One fruit/veggie in every dimple should guarantee a 15lb box. The problem is each size has to be palletized separately. So at the end of the line somebody has to figure out the count which could be anything from 14 for the ginormous ones to a 52 for the little ones.

Once I made my fateful statement of how Swinger dude could just look at the box and say the count he felt the need to elaborate on how he did it. Apparently he sees the arrangement of rows and the number in each row and instantly knows what the count is. If he had stopped there I would be in awe of this ability.

Swinger dude loves to talk so of course it didn't stop there. Oh hell no. We had an entire afternoon of him doing his "Tickle-me Elmo" impersonation complete with the shaking up and down (picture that shit in bondage gear folks!). His maniacal laughter and talk and talk and talk. About shit NOBODY gives a flying fuck about.

In the end he devised a "method" to make it simpler for us stupid folk to do what he could do.

So I tried to figure out his method. Let's see, 14 count - a row of 3 and a row of 4, and 4 rows all together. Something is off there. The 16 count and the 18 count work. Call me stupid but I don't fucking get it. Plus has anyone ever heard of a Demon? And how does this shit relate to cars anyhow?

Swinger dude wants to tell me about his brilliant method and how people are using it. Dude they are laughing AT you, not with you. Most of us (as in everybody except YOU) just look at the liner.

In order to spare myself a one hour dialogue on how his "method" works I turned around and told him that it's simpler to just look at the number on the liner. His reply? I'm color blind - I wouldn't know. It's all the same color! How does being color blind stop you from reading a raised number on plastic?

After that afternoon? I now have three workers ready to start a bidding war on the one job that doesn't require them to work in his area. I could get rich off of this folks.

Also? The last time EVER I try to soften a reprimand with a compliment.

I Wish I Never Heard This

Please let me start this post by apologizing for the images I am about to burn into your brain. In fact - before you start reading you need to find a happy picture that you can use for brain bleach after you are done.

No not THAT one - quick pick another!

So I work with this guy who loves to talk. So much that he just doesn't know when to quit.

Less than a month into this new job I come to find out that he's been discussing his weekend plans. No biggie, everybody does that right? Sure, but not everybody's weekend plans include attending a swingers party.

I personally did not have to hear any of the details but the idea still left me feeling squeamish and vaguely nauseated. I don't care to picture anybody doing the nasty but somehow picturing a short heavy man doing this type of nasty is even worse. He looks a lot like Jack Black - just in case you too wanted the visual.

End result, I tell him that sharing his sexcapades at work is unacceptable and consider the topic closed. I move forward to dealing with his other issues. Primarily - small dog syndrome. Truly the guy is a firecracker with a very short fuse and he spends most days daring someone to light it. Either way, he goes on vacation for a week.

On his FIRST day back from vacation, this train wreck of a conversation took place.

Him: So and so was telling me to do this that or the other thing. I turned around and said "I don't want to have sex with you"

My Brain: Please tell me you are full of shit and did NOT really say that to a co-worker. It's the end of a long day and I'm tired and I don't want to deal with the motherfucking paperwork.

And then I try to race walk fast enough to get away from him. Of course, no such fucking luck, he's stuck to me like white on rice.

Him: I have a reason for saying that to people when they start telling me do this or do that.

My Brain: Oh, you mean you have an excuse for being a rude asshole? I thought it was just your personality, or maybe your bigotry. Whatever, you probably didn't really say that and you're just blowing smoke up my ass.

Him: I have a very specific reason for saying that. It's because when people start telling me what to do it's hardwired into my sex-drive. That's why I tell them I don't want to have sex with them.

I swear to God the world stopped revolving for a heartbeat while my brain tried in vain to convince me I did NOT just hear what I think I heard. I mean it could be just exhaustion screwing with my head right?

My Brain: What the fuck did he just say? Is he trying to tell me he's a submissive or whatever the fuck you call it? Are you serious! Who the hell just drops that kind of bomb into a conversation?

I start race walking away from him as fast as I can.

Only he's still right behind me like a tick on a dog, and THEN he drops this bomb.

Him: So now you know why I say that, but it doesn't apply to supervisors.

My Brain: Wait, WTF does that mean? If I tell him what to do he's going to get turned on?

Since then I have this image of a short fat hairy man in leather straps and shit, as some woman stands over him with a whip. And I see this image EVERY fucking time I see him or hear his psychotic clown laugh, and I vomit a little bit.