Thanks for that.
[Canucks fan snide remark]I would like to pee in his shower, since he’s a Leaf fan and all, but I make it a policy not to associate with Leaf fans. [/Canucks fan snide remark]
And that is a blatant lie. I still talk to my father.
My secret is that sometimes I blatantly lie on message boards and then retract the statement immediately.
One doper here I have talked to on the telephone. And he’s a lawyer. What do you think I am going to admit, hmmm?
Some times there’s too many people and I cant wait. So I pee in his sink. Shhh. Don’t tell anyone.
I hated Eat Pray Love and lied to my book group. At least you admitted it. Tom Hanks’ forehead makes me squeegy. It’s way past five fingers now.
I am not tan at all.
But you are a gent?
At your disposal, M’lady.
I’m not a trickster from Ukraine.
Am I the only sick bastard who thought these two secrets were going to wind up connected? :o
Actually here’s a secret.
I did detest peanut butter. For about 6 years now, I have not touched the stuff. You can find my reasoning here, in various “foods you hate” threads. Now I like it again.
My hubby hates it. And it was one of the things that brought us together. He actually said “problem with dating women with kids is there is usually lots of peanut butter around.” I said there is no peanut butter in my house. We locked eyes, embraced… violin music…*
Now I like it again. I eat peanut butter toast at work. I had a Reese’s PB cup the other day and didn’t gag. This may spiral out of control into a full blown affair with the *beurre d’arachides. *
So, uh if you meet him, don’t tell him.
*May not be completely accurate rendition of facts, but does capture the crazy spirit of '07.
Are there any fees associated with this service?
It’s a secret. 
Yes, you are a sick bastard, and not the only one. I suspect ducati is not telling the whole truth, though, there must be some connection between the two and Leaffan’s shower. Were I Leaffan, I would be checking for soggy cardboard tubes before his next soap-and-urine fest.
The person I’m closest to in life bores me, not only to tears, but beyond tears. I feel so, so sorry for this person. But I feel sorry for myself, too. 
I have been intimate with a dozen men in my life. Relationships and a couple of one-night stands. The sex with all but two of them was awful, just horrible and painful and I couldn’t wait for it to end. And when it did, then all I did was worry if I’d get knocked up, even though I was a stickler for using birth control. So…I should have become a nun, or something.
These are sad. But it was me who anonymously sent a few bucks in a sympathy card to people who lost their pets in a fire. 
(Not that I don’t think it’s tragic when people die, of course, but the whole world mourns that and rallies round them. When a pet dies, they’re told, ‘oh, it’s just an animal, it could have been one of your kids, get over it!’)
Sayid Jarrah. You are one of the survivors on oceanic flight 815.
HAHAHAHAHAHA.
Sorry,
6 minutes here