Because the bathroom is so honest, you must treat it like a drunk friend who knows too much: Be wary, for it will spill your secrets when you least expect it. Not out of malice, but simply because that is its nature. You may think you're putting your best foot forward and really charming the literal pants off of someone, and then they excuse themselves to use the bathroom, at which point you have zero seconds left to stem the tide of what may follow. Is there filth-encrusted tissue sitting on top of your trash can? How about errant feminine hygiene products? Is the bowl clean, or is it decorated with a thin layer of ass spackle? Has anyone pissed on the wall and left drip marks that shine in the light when you turn your head just so? Is there a hairy razor sitting on the side of the sink? Did you hang a wet pair of underwear over the shower rod? Is your hemorrhoid cream sitting out? THERE ARE SO MANY QUESTIONS!

The one-night stand is a purely impulsive decision based on your boner or lady boner's insistence that you rub your groin on someone else's until your brain nods in fervent agreement. Both of them, and you at this point, will have forgotten if you bothered to tidy up the house. You will only remember at the moment your new crotch-cuddler asks to use it, and at that point it's too late to do anything about it. A solid rule of thumb is to give your bathroom a once-over every time you leave it. Look at it as if you were visiting someone else's, and if anything makes you cringe, fix it before you leave.

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Your home is a reflection of yourself. A super-tidy, immaculate home may be the sign of an anal-retentive neat freak, while the eye of a shit cyclone is indicative of someone who may use baby wipes in lieu of showering. You want a happy medium that doesn't offend yourself or others, because yes, people judge you. And rightly so. You deserve to be judged if your go-to style is squalor. I deserved to be judged, and judged I was. Do you know how much tail I missed out on as a result of my hapless disregard for cleanliness and organization? One. One whole tail. And that's a lot for me. Do you think I'm up in here having all the sexes? I once wrote a piece about why life would suck for a zombie, because I have the time to consider what life would be like for a zombie, because I have nothing else going on except cleaning my kitchen.

1: Vomit

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2: Unconsciousness

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3: A limp, lazy, no-good wiener.

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All three of these outcomes are to sex what all three of those things are to anything -- maybe with the exception of the limp wiener, a condition which doesn't generally affect things like boiling an egg or Scrabble, unless you play it the way I do. But you get the idea. At some point, you need to know your limit and drink within it, or else face the terrible prospect of sitting on your bed, vomiting onto your own wobbly squish digit before passing out in your new friend's lap.

No one should care how many sexual partners you've had, nor is it really their business. But you make it their business when you rub it in their face, literally or figuratively. Hopefully just figuratively, but who am I to judge what turns you on?

Obviously, most of us don't start an evening of seduction by saying something like "I've taken a real shine to your crotch, but the last five I jiggered were a little nicer." Don't say that. But you don't need to say anything sometimes if you've really fucked up your preparations. First and foremost, you're going to want to not have a used condom pretty much anywhere that it can be seen. That's a surefire sign that you're gross. A used condom has no choice but to be gross, and the closer it gets to you, the grosser it becomes, like a proximity mine of viscous, ropy repulsion. It's a literal sack of biohazard, and if you see it in someone else's home, it means they had it in and around where you're trying to go, all squishy and glorpy in the promised land. That's terrible. Objectively, it's a good thing, as it means that your friend is responsible. But you're not objective -- you're subjective, and you're being subjected to a rubbery spooge sock within oozing distance. Gross.

If you collect panties, jock straps, bras, photos of ham wallets, butthole silhouettes, or any other sort of sexual trophies, make sure they're in one of those dry cleaning bags or something else no one is going to look in. People who collect sex trophies are too much like serial killers for anyone's comfort. You conquered something and needed a creepy reminder of it that only appeals to you but when anyone else sees it, they're worried you're going to put a tarp down and start playing Huey Lewis.

Even if the condom isn't used, you're going to want to keep your birth control out of sight in general as well. If you have a fishbowl full of condoms or an IUD-of-the-week rack, it takes someone out of the moment. By all means, have those things, but keep them in a drawer. Imagine grandma coming over and mistaking your birth control pills for Tic Tacs, the way so many sexually clueless boobs in direct-to-video comedies do. You don't want to live with that on your conscience. It's not about being a prude or hiding who you are. It's just about tact and considering the feelings of other people who have to see your used condom homunculus trying to birth itself from the ooze-encrusted waste basket, and must decide whether they should flee in silence or whilst emitting terrified screams.

For more check out 6 Factors That Secretly Influence Who You Have Sex With and 5 Insignificant Things That Determine Who You Have Sex With.

And be sure to check out Wake Up In A Horror Movie? Here's What You Need To Know..., and let us know about other headsplosion-worthy employees we may have missed.

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