Things that mess me up:
Chest of Drawers v. Chester Drawers (and what if I only fill it with socks, not my "drawers"?)
Velcro (I always want to say "velcrove")
By and Large v. By enlarge
Freckles v. Moles
Waxing v. Waning
Ebb v. Flow
Flotsam v. Jetsam
The number of people I know online who have felt the need to scrap it all and start over under new identities. (I didn't say "tities"). I can kind of identify, as two folks I used to work with now know of my blog, although I don't suppose either would rat me out if I went on some kind of a tear about my employer. Beyond that I may have some family members who have found their way here, and I look upon that two ways- one, they weren't explicitly invited here. I don't mean that they are unwelcome, but they need to realize that I vent here. And two, I'm not the person that writes the Christmas cards and letters. I cuss like an injured sailor with Tourette's. I'm also a Category 5 pervert. Seriously. No, I'm not teasing. Really, really vile things interrupt my thoughts all the time. There are things in my noodle I don't tell even Schmoopie, just so she'll still come to bed with me, and she seems to appreciate filth- or my shock value anyway.
Incidentally, if you yourself were in to tying up your lover, and then one day you saw your child tying up his or her stuffed animals in his or her room during playtime, would you interpret that to be confirmation of a genetic marker or proclivity towards bondage? Just wondering...
Plus, today I'm wearing a shirt with a little embroidered logo dealy close to my left nipple (and fuck Tommy Hilfiger). I see it regularly out of the corner of my eye and try to brush it off. While at first, it was just a harmless bit of self titillation (heh- I almost said titties again), now it's leading to a rubbed raw moob kind of thing.