Rhinotillexomania uh oh

There's something I need to get off my chest dot dot dot my third nipple. Just kidding, but yeah that too.

Anyhoos, here it goes. This summer, I swapped spit (etc.) with the middle school nose picker (insert shocked gasp for emphasis). It was a low point. A supersonic-smack your forehead-what the hell was I thinking low point.

He is a reformed pointer, however. He has seen the error of his rhinotillexomaniac ways (you bet your ass I wikipedia-ed nose-picking) and has been clean for a number of years.

Nevertheless, that does not make it ok. Neither does blaming the booze. Obvi, I was rockin’ the beer goggles, which made ex-Mr. Bougs look like he’d been dipped in handsome sauce a la Ed Norton.

Incidentally, fruit flies also rock the beer goggles. After one too many ethanol cocktails, Chuck fruitfly is all “heeeeeeeeeaaaay how you doin’!?” to Larry fruitfly (once again, thank you wikipedia).

But I digress. This back seat batch of nonsense was not not not ok. Admittedly, I’d been experiencing a bit of a dry spell. Well actually, it wasn't really so much a spell as it has become more of a lifestyle. Thumbs down.

So when it came to decision making time, the randy Sandy inside me was jonesing for a bonesing. So up and over I went.

I’m still dizzy from the shame spiral.