Dear body.
Knock it the fuck off, already, huh? I’ve put you to bed and given you rest. I’ve kept the humidifier on, I’ve sweated the fever out of you. I’ve fed you orange juice and tea and chicken soup. I’ve gargled with salt water, I’ve drank a hot toddy. I’ve tried every mother’s trick there is and still you allow my throat to be on fire.
Please, please, please, please make it stop. I stayed in bed for two days, everything else has gone away, just allow me to be able to swallow again is all I’m asking.
Because ouch.
I had a date recently, and even though there was zero potential for post-date frolicking, I thought I would gussy myself up a bit and wear fancy undergarments. I thought that adding a little black lace to my wardrobe would make me feel feminine and sexy.
Yeah, all it made me feel was as if I had a rubber band up my ass and my tits in a vice.
I was so unbearably uncomfortable all evening. Sure, my rack looked incredible, and yes, he certainly noticed, but I can’t see that it’s at all worth it. Especially since this guy had the personality of toast.
I own exactly two thongs. One of them I got free from Victoria’s Secret when they were having some promotion for cardholders, the other came as part of this particular black lace set. Needless to say, I don’t wear them very often, and normally not out of the house.
I have a friend who wears nothing but thongs and I just can’t understand it. Now, I’m not one who wears granny panties around, but there is such a thing as a happy medium. I wear cute little things, sometimes even lacy ones, but one that actually consist of fabric. I mean, if you’re going to wear next to nothing to protect your lady bits, have the audacity to actually wear nothing. Pieces of string just seem extraneous.
I am of the opinion that there is no point whatsoever to thongs unless you happen to be engaged in play of the sexual variety with a man (or woman!) who enjoys the sight of them. And I won’t be wearing the annoying little fuckers again any time soon.
*p.s. – this is a nod to one of my favorite silly movies, “Never Been Kissed” where Gary Marshall’s editor character asks everything in the meetings in this format. “Marketing department. Yes or no?” Cracks me up, every time.
Filed under: Naughty | Tags: bruises, hilarity, Officer I swear she asked for it, ouch
Which isn’t embarrassing to me, really, so much as highly amusing. But it probably should be embarrassing. It’s probably more embarrassing to other people than it is me.
You see, I have a bit of an iron deficiency in my blood which causes me to bruise really easily. Super easily. I always have bruises that I don’t know the origin of because I happened to bump into something somewhere.
I also happen to be engaging in some activities of the adult variety with a man who likes to bite.
You can see where this is going, right?
Normally it’s fine. Just a nip or two. They look a lot worse than they feel. But let’s just say that on certain occasions, if I wanted to, I could walk into a police precinct and have him thrown in the slammer for domestic abuse. And he wouldn’t have a chance in hell of defending himself.
It’s ok now that it’s getting cooler and it makes sense for me to wear long sleeves. But when it was a zillion degrees outside and all I normally wear is tank tops, it took some creative costuming to keep people from asking questions.
Luckily, it’s freezing in my office, so I always wear a sweater and no questions need be asked. Can you imagine a coworker showing up one day with bruises all down her arm? Lord how the rumors would fly.
Personally, I think this is hilarious. It amuses me to no end the damage he manages to do to me. It’s kind of mind boggling, really. Because in the process, it never seems that bad. A bite or two here and there never hurt anybody. On a normal person, they’d probably not even show up as bruises. But lucky for me, they show up as a freaking Monet all down my alabaster skin.
Filed under: Beach Living, Work | Tags: kayak, ouch, teh sick, words cannot express how much I hate this place, Work
I think that my office may, in fact, be trying to kill me. Maybe I’ve been watching too much Angel, with the demons and possessions and all (btw – not only has Charisma not gotten less annoying, they added some prat with a fake English accent to further piss me off), but I’m starting to sense a conspiracy.
For starters, I don’t have allergies unless I’m sitting at my desk. Out in the air with the pollen I’m fine. I step into the office and I’m sneezing and sniffling like there’s no tomorrow.
Secondly, the headaches! This is probably a result of the constant staring at the computer screen, but I’m on the computer a lot at home too and I never have this problem. As soon as I walk out the door in the evening, I feel fine. Like a switch goes off in my head, “Oh, she’s out of the building, we’ll turn the headache off now!” And while I use the phrase “beating my head against the wall” quite liberally when describing my job, I’ve never actually performed the action.
I’m sure that getting petty emails from the boss unit and having coworkers that speak quite loudly of inappropriate things doesn’t help. I think maybe setting the place aflame would. How did Milton get away with it?
Luckily, the tides are right tonight that I can go out in the kayak after work. Maybe a little frolicking with dolphins will make me feel better. Only problem is, I have to come back tomorrow. Dammit.
