Dear Future Roommate,

This coming Fall, I will begin a year-long house sitting stint with one of mah besties from my hometown who is dragging her sorry soprano ass cross country to live with my sorry might-as-well-be-a-castrato-for-all-anyone-cares ass. This will be the very first time that I live with anyone other than my family. The fact that we will be living in a house other than an apartment will make a huge difference as far as the crampings of our respective styles (or lack thereof; Paisley Ghetto Hoodie, I'm-a lookin' at you), but nevertheless there are some things about me that she should probably learn about before hand and what better way to express these very personal idiosyncrasies than in a very public blog. Thus, I present part one of...

Dear Future Roommate,

In the time that we live together, you will, at some point, see my penis. Now, I recognize that this may not be the smoothest entrance into the list of points you should know, but I figure I'd just throw you into the deep end, clothes on, right off the bat.

DO NOT BE AFRAID OF IT! No one is. This is not something that I wish to happen, having outgrown that stage of my life along with my fascination for Fruity-Os and Starlight Surprise Barbie. I feel I should warn you nevertheless, because despite my frequent shame regarding him, the Peen has a way of appearing out of the blue for no. Reason. Whatsoever. I wish I could tell you (and future lovers) that he is simply too great and magnificent to be sheathed, but tragically, I am Jewish and this is not the case. Unfortunately, God's chosen people were only given superiority above all other nations in the low-hangers that accompany the main attraction. This may explain why we are such a self-martyring people. Also, the Holocaust.

Additionally, we are genetically disposed to carry the Grower-Not-A-Show-er gene. This means that while we, in fact, can hold our own come show time, we are rather unassuming in the off-season. Also, please note that the house is generally kept rather cold and that I immerse myself in water with some frequency. As such, appropriate responses should you walk in on any nekkiditude would NOT include "Awww!" or "It looks like a corsage!"

Also, please note that even if I happen to show you mine, I under no circumstances want to see yours. Unless that circumstance involves copious amounts of uppers, Cialis and a bisexual Latino. I love lady bodies, especially the lumps. They're like little pillows of delight that squish me when I am hugged by the womenz. Also, I am fascinated at how the attach underneath. Is there a clear crease or more of a gradual sag? Is the underside white like underneath a watch band? Do you need to lift them up when washing to get at stubborn under-boob lint? These are questions I have, but notice how none of them have to do with vaginas. Not interested. Thought sometimes with alcohol. So given our predicted mutual drinking problem, it will probably come up at some point. Well, this paragraph was a bust...

Anyway, I'm sorry that you need to know all this, but not actually, cause why the hell would I write about it if I didn't want the whole world to know. Clearly, I am an attention seeking blog whore. Still, I will try to guard you from my shame and if nothing else I promise to keep up the manscaping. The fact that I expect the same courtesy grooming from you should be a given.


Love,

D