So comfortable, so familiar
“So, what’s going on?” He always knew when I wasn’t telling him something.
I wanted to burst!! “I never see you, except in my dreams!!”
But even in my dreams, I couldn’t say it.
romance
On Romance
Life never ends up like the movies, but if mine ever did, I’d hope it would emulate The Wedding Singer.
The Mattress Guy
First conversation I have with the Mattress Guy, I wind up innocuously suggesting we go out for a drink. His response:
“Yeah, I meet girls at these shows and I have sex with them, but we have to go straight to my hotel cause I have to be in bed by twelve-thirty.”
So, I spent the next few days—still flirting with him, for some reason—but, more relevantly, wondering how it is he gets the girls actually to go straight to bed with him. I kept thinking I’d need at least one drink. Not that I don’t think he’s cute. I do. But my friends don’t. And he is forty, and seemingly awfully dirty.
A few days later I understood. I was walking past him and he shouted, “Damn girl! When am I going to get you in bed?!” It really wasn’t much of a question, but more of a comment. And all the neighboring vendors heard. But that’s okay cause the Vita Mix guys heard me tell one of my pals that I was “totally going to do him.”
Ah life. Thank god I’ve decided to uphold my New Years Resolution not to sleep with random men.
back at worst temp job ever
and i finally figured out what to do with my time…
…drink as much of their crappy burnt coffee as I can stomach. This causes me terribly smelly gas, which I then release as silently as possible while filing in the boss’ office. It brings me infinitely more pleasure than dramatically mouthing the lyrics to the soft rock playing in the background.
Of course my absolute favorite activity remains flirting with the auto mechanics. You might say that they’re the Mercedes Benz of auto mechanics. And they sure are cute in those Dickies. Except the old and fat ones. Eww.
It backfired, though, this late morning. I was in the process of snaring my favorite Russian mechanic when my gas wasn’t nearly as silent as I’d expected. It also solved the mystery – if there had been any mystery – as to where the smell was coming from. It’s their damn fault for having such shitty coffee anyway. I’m on to them. The French Roast is totally the same as the House Blend.
