xxarchives
xxcurrent
xxemail
xxnotes
xxprofile
xxbio
xxlovelies
xxdesign
xxdlnd

Full Moon Blues

2004-07-02_xx_2:24 p.m.


My self-imposed celebacy is starting to drive me a little bit whacko. To make matters worse I realized that I am a total slut and am perfectly fine with it, even though I'm trying not to be.

Stupid Jekyll & Hyde battle in my mind to deal with and...the Thursdays night shenanigans by the one that is short TOTALLY didn't help things. Even though the porno exchange program is in full effect, with a couple of additional members, it is starting to lose it's magic. You see I've been on a number of 'blind dates' with my left hand lately and these dates are starting to be just as satisfying as the slut I call my right. Gratification, yes, but nothing can take the place of a female hand being the one taking it the little guy out for a night on the town.

Oh yeah, it's also a FULL moon, which makes me a little bit more unstable than normal.

So here I sit, trying to think about anything else to get through my day and not make it painfully logner than it has already become.

My eyes naturaully roam to the general direction of where the 'x' sits. While staring off into space I mentally catalog the females located in the cubicles a few yards away. An odd feeling of unease, combined with a sense of dirty pride came over me as I did a quick head count and laughed to myself; in an 8 foot cubicle radius there are four women that at one point in my 7 years at the same company I have made out with. With the exception of the 'x' the other three were from fits of drunken or drug fueled hazes. Add to this number three more women on the same floor and I have suckled no less than 14 boobies that all work together. In my defense (if you can call it that), I have only slept with three of them (that includes the 'x').

Now I can't say that I'm proud of this fact (ok, maybe just a little) but the reason this came up was because one of my managers has been flirting with me for quite sometime. She always goes out of her way to invite me to happy hours she attends and continues to make mention that she needs a social coordinator and that the only man in her life is her son. Even though the poet despises her for being a "dumb bitch", she is actually quite intilligent, holding her own when I steer the conversations from her teething toddler to matters of world politics. She is getting her Masters degree in education, is very well enuciated and can spell a helluva lot better than I can. Physically she is very curvy, and works out to maintain her hourglass shape; she of course has blonde hair, big blue eyes and a size D chest. I, however, refuse to listen to the sirens song and remind myself that the "NO FISHING" sign that is now hanging in my cubicle is more than just an amusing out of place decoration. It, along with the bobbing breasts are reminders that fishing out of the company pond will get me more fish than I know what to do with.

So how to solve this building frustration? Beats the hell out of me, I probably should just give up and get laid. In the meantime I'll just adjourn to happy hour at a strip club and let my holiday weekend torture begin.

**Editors Note; Jack Update: My friend Jack got himself a job as a...crossing guard of all things...at an elementary school near his mother's condo. While I'm glad he has gotten himself a job, I questioned him on his logic of a seasonal job. To which he informed me, "Nah dude, it's all good, it's one of those new 'year round' schools." Once I inquired as to when he would be working he informed me, "from August to May of next year when school lets out." If you live in the Mesa area, you can take great comfort in knowing that my friend Jack has a history of being hit by cars and he will now be escorting your children across busy intersections as his new career move. Take heart, it could be worse, he could have been a bus driver...

-----{__] | [__}-----

Comments Are Always Appreciated!
powered by SignMyGuestbook.com

Site Meter