Angelina Jolie, The Chosen One, and Adventures in the Loo

I’ve adopted so many bathroom stalls in my lifetime I’m like the Angelina Jolie of public restrooms.  I’m sure I can manage to look hot and wholesome in one fell swoop, and apart from the height difference we’re practically twins right? ….right? So maybe I have a bit more cellulite than she does, and maybe the boobage isn’t quite so perky.

BUT!  She has big lips… I have big lips.  She has luscious long locks… I have frizzy, curly, brown ones that I can totally rock out if I tried.  She’s been known to carry her ex’s blood around her neck and I’m – well – I’ve always been just a little bit weird.  Somehow we both managed to get laid and even landed husbands!  So we’re totally twins… but I digress.

Selection Selection 

Going into a new restroom is like speed-dating for toilets, creating a list of maybes, possiblys, hell-nos, and a few good ones. The Chosen One will be clean, well-stocked, preferably near the back end of the restroom, and bonus points if the handicap stall fits the bill (if only for the extra breathing room). Sinks get the same once-over.

Public restrooms = speed-dating for toilets: maybes, possiblys, hell-nos, and a few good ones Click To Tweet

And just like that, I’ve added another notch on the restroom belt.

Booty Call?

pink-hair-tattoo-woman-sitting-on-toiletEvery school, every restaurant, every hotel – heck even the darn Walmart has a nature call favorite; a ‘one-minute-stand’ if you will.  Like a drunk-dialed booty call I gravitate to the same stall every.  single.  time I use this restroom.  If said stall is occupied I end up leaving with naught but a modicum of dignity, having called on a sub-par ‘C-List’ stall. 

The restroom by the high school cafeteria was 1st stall; in the history hallway … 3rd one in.  The mall – last one at the end; same for train station and Walmart.  Middle stall at Lonestar.  Casino – 2nd on the right or last on the left. This last conference?  3rd from the end.  I could go on but it might get a little personal – so I’ll spare you.  You’re welcome.

Mono-Mono?

She collects babies like they’re the newest WebKinz;  I collect porcelain bassins not unlike a gaggle of drunk sorority sisters.  A map depicting her humanitarian efforts would make a great ‘Where In The World is Carmen San Diego’  episode, while searching for blackheads on the landscape of my enlarged pores is like a Where’s Waldo gone bad.

See?  Practically twins.  We may as well have been born holding hands.

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