09 Jun 09 07:46, Roger Nelson wrote to Roy Witt:


 RW>> RN> You can easily find out.

 RW>> Not me...

 RN> Sure you can.  You're resourceful.

I didn't want to go there.

 RN> Just google "graffiti in women's restrooms."  Make sure you don't
 RN> have a mouth full of coffee when reading some of that stuff.  (-:

I liked this one.

"Written on the left wall:"

"    *TOILET TENNIS*"

"      look right"

"Written on the right wall:"

"       look left"

This could keep you going for awhile!

 RW>> This was the gal I dated in highschool, who said she wanted to be a
 RW>> Nun. Ok...besides the sex, why are we dating? This is the one that
 RW>> stated, as she sat in front of the TV - smoking a cigarette and
 RW>> sucking on a Pepsi, 'she'd never quit smoking' after the AG told her
 RW>> that tobacco use could be detrimental to your health...this is the
 RW>> one who had a history of cancer this and cancer that while losing
 RW>> her ability to have the six kids she claimed that she wanted, the
 RW>> one who croaked from emphasyma at the ripe old age of 55, by pulling
 RW>> the plug on her oxygen machine...That oaf put up with her for 18
 RW>> years before he figured it out.

 RN> That is very sad.  The doctor told my ex to stop smoking because she
 RN> was killing herself and I think she did for awhile, but I also think
 RN> she started again.  She's had two husbands since me, but I lasted
 RN> longer than all of the others combined.  (-:-)  She was a different
 RN> person during my tenure.

So was the above, but she changed after having her first baby. What I
hated the most was when we went somewhere, like a family picnic or just
visiting the folks, we had to be home by 7:30pm so the kid could get his
rest in his own bed. All I knew was that I never suffered the kazillion
times I slept on a couch or in a chair, waiting for my parents to end
their good time visiting my aunt and uncle. When it was time to go home,
dad carried me to the car and put me in bed when we did get home.  No big
deal, but she made it one.

                R\%/itt

Joy lives in the fight, in the attempt, in the suffering involved, not in
the victory itself.

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