No.... No, you can't

Private is an interesting word. Because something is private, everyone wants it. Men want women’s privates. Yes, we know women want men’s privates no matter what they say. They would only admit it in private, but they do.

Private Country Club. I want in I want in. Nope, can’t, private. You’re at a hotel… “Private Party”… you peek. If it was justa damn room fulla people you wouldn’t have another thought – but since it’s private, you want in. Curious. Private.

Can someone tell me why private means exclusion, kinda sorta – I really didn’t check Wikipedia, but I would think seclusion, exclusion is in there somewhere. But whenya join the military, everyone’s a GD Private. Why not flip-flop ‘general’ with ‘private’? Makes sense to me. Private should be special. Through attainment. “I made it to private.” "He went to a private school, better education." “She bent over and exposed her privates.” Oops, nothing attained there, less'n youra pervert.

"I want to see you in private." Oh shit, that ain't good. "This conversation is private" or, like we say at work "This is an A and B conversation, C your way out of it!

We cover our privates. We only let others see in private. Our purses, billfolds, drawers at work, bathroom medicine cabinets – private. Uh huh, caught you fucker didn’t I. WHY DO YOU LOOK IN THERE AT SOMEONE ELSE’S HOUSE? Exactly WHAT do you think they’ll have in there?

Privvy. That means ya know doesn’t it? Onea them define sites said: Made a participant in knowledge of something private or secret: was privy to classified information.. Don’t makea helluva lotta sense.

Men’s rooms. Private. Ladie’s rooms. Private. ‘Ceptin half the GD population is welcome.

What usedta be diaries are now blogs. Private is now public. The fact I’ve written in this stupid thing for going on three years now makes my GD life public. Hell, I could be a chick, Stevie Nicks, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Stevie Wonder, Joe Blow, Ozzie Osborne, a transvestite – whadda they call ‘em – heshe’s? Yes, some know me… one or two never met me. So, my identity is private.

Gonna go poop now. In private. Wanna know a private secret? See, you got your GD hopes up didn’tya.. Private/curious. I gotta friend who does that… she’ll start to say something… then “nope.” And the curiosity killsya because she’s kept it private.

Ok, sometimes uncovering the privacy ain’t a good thing. (Scroll to earlier blog about waking up next to --- whothehell is that and an even better question… WHY?) And see, she maybe thinking the same thing. She mighta thought I was closer to Lyle Lovette than Alex. Eh, closing time.

You asked. I was at HyVee. I hadta poop, not bad, but I did. Didn’t. Drove home.. then pooped. Then thought “holy shit (no pun intended)”:… I can’t believe I drove from HyVee to home and all that yucky crap was there in my body somewhere.”

Some things, I guess, should just remain private. Go have fun in public with private stuff. Crash the Jewell Ball. Walkon the Deer Creek tennis courts. Takea brother to the KKK meeting. Women, go try to pee in a urinal. Men, try the ladies dressing room at Macys. “Oops, my bad.”

Privately, I love you. Keep it our secret eh? Victurd