So I am driving home from work last night, thinking about stopping at a liquor store and filling up a flask to get enough drink under my belt to seem calm and collected. I get a call from my husband, who asks why I've made plans, since he's on vacation from work this week (he was at the PGA practice rounds the last few days, I thought those were the only days he had off). Whoops! So I text my friend that I'm supposed to meet to hit golf balls with, letting him know (again) that I have to cancel. I have not heard back. I believe he is pissed. Who wouldn't be? I've cancelled twice now. But plans are made to be broken, right? Its just like the old saying goes "I'm so hungry I could beat a horse." Been there.
So we went out with his sister and her fiance and some of their friends for a couple of drinks and burgers at Shamrocks. Not bad - but kind of anti-climactic, all things considered.
We got home around 8, and the spousal unit turns on the Twins. Ok - don't get me wrong, I like the Twins if I'm watching the game in person with a beer and a dog in my hand. However, if I'm going to be watching sports on television, can't it be something a little more exciting - like football... or golf? Needless to say, almost every sexual impulse that I had been honing since the day's beginning faded. And I ended up calling a friend up to chat as my lovely spouse fell asleep on the couch. I just wish my vibrator (or myself) weren't as loud as I am (or it is).
Which leads me to last night - if anyone ever reads this, and is a master at deciphering the meaning hidden in dreams, I would absolutely love this one analyzed. I wrote it down after I woke up this morning because it had me laughing out loud:
I'm in a drug store, and I think I see Nicole Kidman. I'm not sure, so I sidle up and say "I'm a big fan." When she thanks me, I ask if I can be a total nerd and have my picture taken with her, because nobody will ever believe this. She said that was fine, and I suddenly spotted a Rock Band setup in the back of the store. I had, and proposed to her, my brilliant idea to make it look like we were buddies just hanging out and playing rock band together. She agreed (of course she would, we're tight), and we soon realized the instruments were on, so we started actually playing Rock Band. Then a guy from Canada that I met at Moondance Jam this year walked past and grabbed the mic. Long story short - its the all-American love story. We fall for one another while singing into fake instruments with Nicole Kidman and run off to his mother's house in Canada (clearly, I am a romantic). I remember a brief and torrid affair in his mother's dilapidated basement, and the fact that she had a lot of dogs. All of the dogs liked me except for one. The one that lived in the oven. Yeah - didn't strike me as weird until this morning. This big beast of a dog lived in the oven, and when my sister came to visit me at my lover's mother's house in Canada, the mean dog in the oven got along with her just fine.
Then I woke up.
This morning I had a propel with a diet coke chaser and am feeling ready to face the day. On the way to work I popped in my new mix cd that I made after some beverages last night (so I get to surprise myself with what music I picked). Thank goodness drunk me knew that sober me wouldn't know where to find - or would forget about - the rad new mix cd, and so put it in my purse for me for this morning. So far the songs are varied and upbeat, and I would like to meet drunk me sometime because I sound like a lot of fun. I think today will be great. We'll see what happens tonight.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Fucking Classy
Its been a quiet few days for me. Although I’m starting to really think I must be either really needy or semi-attention-starved.
From my favorite bar, there’s been a nice guy that I’ve hung out with a few times. We’ve never hung out outside of the arena of a booze-house, so this should be interesting. Tonight we are going to meet at the driving range and crack a few balls. Honestly (and here’s where my semi-alcoholism in social situations comes in), I think I’ll be packing a flask or at least a mixed drink to sip on on the way there so as to be able to lighten up and actually hit the ball. Why do I get so nervous and awkward? So we’ll see how that goes.
Due to this new venture in my life to attempt blogging, I have started to read a couple of other blogs out of curiosity. I have found some interesting ones and some that are as boring as this post feels (even while I write it I’m yawning). I have pretty much begun stalking one guy – we’ll call him D. D is super interesting and…well… tall and funny. Why is that such a killer combo? Anyway, I’m waiting to see how long it takes before I lose interest, as I inevitably will. That’s the great thing about stalking, the stalked never has to know that you had any interest or that you lost it – because they didn’t know of your tendencies in the first place. Glorious. I think I’m going to start picking someone at random to stalk every few weeks, keep things spicy.
On the fetish front – I have another panty drop tomorrow and have received a couple of interesting propositions in the meantime. There is a guy with a flashing fetish – which, since it would take place in public, I think I’d be ok with. And then there’s a chap who requested that we meet in a supermarket, he’d bend over and I could see his thong, and I would proceed to giggle and tease him a little for it. I’m turning that one over, too, because I could do it over a lunch hour and not lose any time at all, while picking up a few dollars and allowing someone to have a little of their own fun. I’m such a giver. And classy, so classy.
Speaking of classy, I go to this music festival each year in Walker, MN, called Moondance Jam. They have a t-shirt there that I’ve been eyeing for some time. This year, when a friend I met there dipped a rose into a glass of whiskey and ate it, it really came to mind. (sidenote: I like to give him “crap” about his “poopouri” that he took the next day and how his “shit really does smell like roses” – ahhh, the possibilities are endless.) Here it is:
Instead I got a pair of panties with rhinestones spelling out the word “Moondance.” Why do I need that t-shirt? Considering the purchase I actually made – case in point.
From my favorite bar, there’s been a nice guy that I’ve hung out with a few times. We’ve never hung out outside of the arena of a booze-house, so this should be interesting. Tonight we are going to meet at the driving range and crack a few balls. Honestly (and here’s where my semi-alcoholism in social situations comes in), I think I’ll be packing a flask or at least a mixed drink to sip on on the way there so as to be able to lighten up and actually hit the ball. Why do I get so nervous and awkward? So we’ll see how that goes.
Due to this new venture in my life to attempt blogging, I have started to read a couple of other blogs out of curiosity. I have found some interesting ones and some that are as boring as this post feels (even while I write it I’m yawning). I have pretty much begun stalking one guy – we’ll call him D. D is super interesting and…well… tall and funny. Why is that such a killer combo? Anyway, I’m waiting to see how long it takes before I lose interest, as I inevitably will. That’s the great thing about stalking, the stalked never has to know that you had any interest or that you lost it – because they didn’t know of your tendencies in the first place. Glorious. I think I’m going to start picking someone at random to stalk every few weeks, keep things spicy.
On the fetish front – I have another panty drop tomorrow and have received a couple of interesting propositions in the meantime. There is a guy with a flashing fetish – which, since it would take place in public, I think I’d be ok with. And then there’s a chap who requested that we meet in a supermarket, he’d bend over and I could see his thong, and I would proceed to giggle and tease him a little for it. I’m turning that one over, too, because I could do it over a lunch hour and not lose any time at all, while picking up a few dollars and allowing someone to have a little of their own fun. I’m such a giver. And classy, so classy.
Speaking of classy, I go to this music festival each year in Walker, MN, called Moondance Jam. They have a t-shirt there that I’ve been eyeing for some time. This year, when a friend I met there dipped a rose into a glass of whiskey and ate it, it really came to mind. (sidenote: I like to give him “crap” about his “poopouri” that he took the next day and how his “shit really does smell like roses” – ahhh, the possibilities are endless.) Here it is:
Instead I got a pair of panties with rhinestones spelling out the word “Moondance.” Why do I need that t-shirt? Considering the purchase I actually made – case in point.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Tuesday... I should write this before I get drunk...
Ahhhh, Tuesday. The day my loving spouse returns home from his PGA escapades. The day I had my first cervical biopsy (the discomfort of which lingers - hence the boozing-to-be for this evening). The day after I accidentally stood someone up. And the day I got an unexpected gift in my boss's mail.
True story.
So on the evening that my aunt was making out with her extra-marital friend, I had few options but to go make some friends of my own. I can work the charisma when I desire, so I hopped onto a barstool and began chatting up a guy eating a bowl of tater tot hotdish. This seemed like my kind of chat. After a few minutes however, I must have not been acting impressed enough with him. As he actually dropped the line "You don't recognize me, do you?" When I said that I didn't, and asked if he had been a random tryst in grade school, he looked blankly at me for a moment and told me to "use my crappy phone to google him." Since my phone is no prize, I took no offense, but explained that I do not have the internet on my phone. He proceeded to explain how he was a semi-famous stand-up comic, and (as if this weren't already getting boring) actually googled himself on his phone so that I could see just how special he was.
The kicker - I don't remember his name.
Ok - I remember that it wasn't Dane Cook - but the guy reminded me of him because 1) he wasn't funny, and 2) he thought he was a really big deal.
However, it was around this time that I looked to the gentleman on my left and decided he looked like he could use a friend instead. We got to chatting about how we like our steaks, and what we like to drink, and our hobbies - good, standard bar talk. He said I should come over on Monday to grill. I said "That sounds fun." Clearly I was drinking, because I don't recall giving him my number.
However, last night at about 6:00, I got a message from a number I didn't recognize that said "are you coming?" an hour later I got one that said "I picked up ribeyes" about a half hour after that I got a third that said "I cleaned my house" and this was followed up with a "I picked up a bottle of Jameson". I am now feeling absolutely terrible as I realize this gentleman really planned on my coming over. Mortified and embarrassed, I apologized and explained that I had gotten caught up at work. I didn't know what to say. But I now realize that even if he texts in the future, I will not respond. Oh boy - nothing worse than being stood up. But I have to rationalize - who would really believe that someone you meet drunk in a bar who says "that sounds fun" is going to randomly show up to your house two days later to hang out like you're old chums?
But the little burst, the little glimmer of true, unbridled joy that I experienced today, came in the form of a package addressed to my boss that I had the pleasure of opening. Inside was a movie about the Holocaust, as well as a tri-fold pamphlet selling sets of such movies and books. This is not the joyous moment. The joyous moment was completely un-called for on my part. But as I looked at the cover of the tri-fold pamphlet, I was suddenly struck funny... how many people had seen this piece of literature before it had been mailed en masse? How could several people not notice the dual meaning that this brochure seemed to be promising. What goods could you actually buy from this company with a title like the one shown. What did it say in big, bold letters on the front of it: Holocaust Survivors Kit. Wow. If you do not understand that this is something that every Jew should have in the trunk of their car, then you don't understand the joke. How could this be a real thing? I know not, but impressed with how that could slip past people? Oh yes, oh yes I was. Haven't had time to scan in the pic yet, so instead I thought I'd throw this in in its place:
Too soon?
True story.
So on the evening that my aunt was making out with her extra-marital friend, I had few options but to go make some friends of my own. I can work the charisma when I desire, so I hopped onto a barstool and began chatting up a guy eating a bowl of tater tot hotdish. This seemed like my kind of chat. After a few minutes however, I must have not been acting impressed enough with him. As he actually dropped the line "You don't recognize me, do you?" When I said that I didn't, and asked if he had been a random tryst in grade school, he looked blankly at me for a moment and told me to "use my crappy phone to google him." Since my phone is no prize, I took no offense, but explained that I do not have the internet on my phone. He proceeded to explain how he was a semi-famous stand-up comic, and (as if this weren't already getting boring) actually googled himself on his phone so that I could see just how special he was.
The kicker - I don't remember his name.
Ok - I remember that it wasn't Dane Cook - but the guy reminded me of him because 1) he wasn't funny, and 2) he thought he was a really big deal.
However, it was around this time that I looked to the gentleman on my left and decided he looked like he could use a friend instead. We got to chatting about how we like our steaks, and what we like to drink, and our hobbies - good, standard bar talk. He said I should come over on Monday to grill. I said "That sounds fun." Clearly I was drinking, because I don't recall giving him my number.
However, last night at about 6:00, I got a message from a number I didn't recognize that said "are you coming?" an hour later I got one that said "I picked up ribeyes" about a half hour after that I got a third that said "I cleaned my house" and this was followed up with a "I picked up a bottle of Jameson". I am now feeling absolutely terrible as I realize this gentleman really planned on my coming over. Mortified and embarrassed, I apologized and explained that I had gotten caught up at work. I didn't know what to say. But I now realize that even if he texts in the future, I will not respond. Oh boy - nothing worse than being stood up. But I have to rationalize - who would really believe that someone you meet drunk in a bar who says "that sounds fun" is going to randomly show up to your house two days later to hang out like you're old chums?
But the little burst, the little glimmer of true, unbridled joy that I experienced today, came in the form of a package addressed to my boss that I had the pleasure of opening. Inside was a movie about the Holocaust, as well as a tri-fold pamphlet selling sets of such movies and books. This is not the joyous moment. The joyous moment was completely un-called for on my part. But as I looked at the cover of the tri-fold pamphlet, I was suddenly struck funny... how many people had seen this piece of literature before it had been mailed en masse? How could several people not notice the dual meaning that this brochure seemed to be promising. What goods could you actually buy from this company with a title like the one shown. What did it say in big, bold letters on the front of it: Holocaust Survivors Kit. Wow. If you do not understand that this is something that every Jew should have in the trunk of their car, then you don't understand the joke. How could this be a real thing? I know not, but impressed with how that could slip past people? Oh yes, oh yes I was. Haven't had time to scan in the pic yet, so instead I thought I'd throw this in in its place:
Too soon?
Monday, August 9, 2010
You've Got A Purdy Mouth
So - back to it, then. On Thursday I had my first experience with a tongue fetishist. I was paid $50 to meet him in a parking lot, stick out my tongue a lot, say a few dirty things about my tongue making him hard, and then he took some photos and I went on my way. Uneventful except for the moment at which he licked the saliva off of my chin (which he'd suggested I dribble there in the first place). When I told a friend about it, she responded with a hard laugh and a long-time favorite quote of ours "You've got a purdy mouth." I was in hysterics. How perfectly creepy. It was poetry in motion.
Speaking of "purdy mouths," I finally got to experience my first drag show. I went there with a friend on Friday night, and proceeded to get roaringly obliterated. Apparently, when you order a Jameson/Diet at the 90s, they sometimes forget about the mixer portion. By the end of the evening, my friend had me telling everyone about my new dabbles into softcore fetishism. Everyone thought it was very entertaining, but not quite as entertaining as our dance moves. As a general rule, I do not dance in public unless it is a slow dance, it is at a wedding, and my husband is there. So the fact that I was able to get ragingly bombed and think that my moves were super hot (I still am pretty sure I was dancing better than anyone there - I had some hot moves), was only outdone the next morning when I discovered that my friend's friend who was with us had videotaped our bump & grind session. I still don't have the nerve to look myself up online. I just don't want to know.
As I am recovering from this night of havoc, and really trying to think of if my moves were that bad, I got a call from my favorite aunt (much more like a sister than an aunt - way younger than my mother & used to live with us). She called to say that she was willing to make a two hour trip to come and visit me from my hometown, and wanted to know how I felt about partying with her. My head was still swimming from the night before, but since I so rarely get to spend time with her, I said it would be great. She drove down and we hit a bar. Then her boyfriend came out to join us. She is married. I knew that this guy existed (to my knowledge they have not yet been physical with one another), but that didn't prepare me for the awkwardness that ensued. I felt downright strange. Then, when they left together and I took a cab home alone, I felt even weirder.
Sunday morning I awoke to her returning via cab, and my spouse leaving with his father (oh yeah - did I mention my father in law was staying at our house that evening? And yes - he knows my aunt) to go on a golfing trip. I tipped the cabby, kissed my husband goodbye, and went inside with my aunt to watch The Hangover. Great movie. Douggie doug doug.
Anyway, she took off after that, and I went into the kitchen and was going to make some food. I noticed a check sitting on the plate. She had left me a check for $50 even though she was the one who made the trip, I did not buy her anything while she was here, and she didn't even sleep in my house. I sent her an email this morning saying that there was no reason to leave me a check, and that I had shredded it (which I had).
The only thing I could think of that the money was for? Hush money. Yes, a very discreet way of saying "Keep your purdy mouth closed."
What an interesting weekend.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Dirty Little Secrets
Today is shaping up to be as interesting as yesterday... and tomorrow holds promise as well. Oh, where to begin??
So, I got a designer suit that was intended for my boss, but since my boss so very recently told me that I was frumpy, but that was to be expected because I was so poor, so when we had our at-work garage sale I could go take some free clothing, I got the designer suit instead of my boss. Its beautiful, cute skirt with amazing pleats, houndstooth, matching jacket. I'm not really that poor where I couldn't spring the $20 garage sale price, but I'll let them believe I am if it gets me cute, free, professional designer apparel. Yay me - 1 point!
Then, as I was finishing up at work yesterday, a co-worker came into the office and asked me if I could come with her to drop some supplies off to a family going through a rough time in North Minneapolis, this is a family that my place of employment had decided to help out. I mentioned that since I lived in North Minne, that I would be happy to do the drop off myself. My boss agreed that it was a fine plan and off I went. I showed up at their home, walked in the front door, and immediately made sure to keep my emotions in check.
The house was bare. Completely bare. These people had nothing. It was a woman and her seven children. No furniture, no food, just the clothes on their backs. Nothing. I could actually hear my heart breaking. It literally looked like this (not their house, just what it looked like):
I went home and loaded up a small couch that I had laying around, and a folding table, and some toilet paper and paper towels and dish rags and dish towels and soap and some other basic necessities. I spoke to my boss on the phone, telling her the situation. She said if I purchased them dinner she would reimburse me for that. I picked up a huge dinner from KFC and dropped off the furniture, the food, and the basics. Then I went home.
I mixed a drink. I got a call from my sister-in-law who had just been talking to my husband (her brother) about what I had been up to. She wanted to help, so I hopped back in my truck and drove to St. Paul, where we loaded up more stuff and I returned for a third time to the house in North Minne. This time I came inside and had a beer. Then I had another. Then I had a cocktail. Then it was midnight. Then it was some drunk sex with my husband and a slightly hung-over morning.
I am SOOOOOOO good at justifying things. I justified getting drunk and apologizing to the family for my lack of a blaccent as something that I needed to do so that they wouldn't see what I was doing as charity, which nobody likes, and to see it instead as a neighbor helping a neighbor. How do I prove this? By drinking with them. How kind of me.
Today, I have loaded up a bunch of clothing being donated to the family from where I work, and was given money to buy them a gift card to the local grocery store, so I will be seeing them again tonight.
Last night, when questioned about my faith by the family (who wanted to bring me with them to church) I claimed to be Jewish. Dirty little secret #1-Not Jewish. Although, if you add to that my complete and utter lack of ability to create and enforce boundaries with people I am trying to help... that could be dirty secret number 2. Oh, and I think the family thinks my husband beats me. I didn't suggest this, but I remember when I finally left last night they were saying how I was too scared of my husband and I believe I heard whisperings about abuse. I am not abused, but didn't have the proper frame of mind to try to explain anything to anyone. I'll clarify tonight. Maybe. But probably not drink. Boundaries.
BUT - before I go there, I have a second date scheduled with my panty man! I have never heard someone get so worked up over panties - the emails he sends me are borderline crazy, but I'm excited to get the extra cash, because it will help with my next dirty little secret.
Dirty little secret: His name: Hector. Why is he a dirty little secret? Well, since I am so busy this evening selling my panties, buying and dropping off a gift card and some other goods to my new favorite charity family, and finishing by helping my crazy middle-aged diabetic pot-head neighbor get a job by trying again to teach him how to use craigslist and email, I simply have no time. After I do those things, I need to pick up a little more cash and go home and do some laundry and pick up some crap that I have laying all over my house. I have to get ready for Hector. Hector is coming tomorrow morning at 7:00 to clean my house and do my dishes so that I don't have to. I am very excited to meet Hector and pay him off with soiled panties money. I am also very excited to take credit to my husband that I did it all through some type of magical osmosis. Because I am definitely not admitting to my spouse that I am paying someone to clean my house when we both know that not only am I fully capable, but I have the time and am simply choosing not to do it.
But since my father in law is coming this weekend, and I would rather get myself into random crazy trouble than clean, what are my options? I mean, what are they really?
So I think (since it would be weird to just sit there while Hector cleans my house for me) I might ask a friend to meet me for breakfast tomorrow morning. You know, so I don't have to actually witness someone doing my work for me, and I can pretend it just happened through that magical osmosis I was referring to earlier.
He even changes linens (hence, why I have to at least do some laundry).
Oh, it will be lovely to come home to a clean house tomorrow after work, having done none of it myself.
A high-school friend (former BFF) wants me to go to a drag show with her tomorrow night, so I'm clearly not going to have time to clean then, either. And since my father in law is allergic to dogs... I simply have no other option but to have someone do my dirty work for me.
Today at work is going to be great, I can't wait to browse the craigslist missed connections, adult gigs, and casual encounters. Just another day in the good life...
So, I got a designer suit that was intended for my boss, but since my boss so very recently told me that I was frumpy, but that was to be expected because I was so poor, so when we had our at-work garage sale I could go take some free clothing, I got the designer suit instead of my boss. Its beautiful, cute skirt with amazing pleats, houndstooth, matching jacket. I'm not really that poor where I couldn't spring the $20 garage sale price, but I'll let them believe I am if it gets me cute, free, professional designer apparel. Yay me - 1 point!
Then, as I was finishing up at work yesterday, a co-worker came into the office and asked me if I could come with her to drop some supplies off to a family going through a rough time in North Minneapolis, this is a family that my place of employment had decided to help out. I mentioned that since I lived in North Minne, that I would be happy to do the drop off myself. My boss agreed that it was a fine plan and off I went. I showed up at their home, walked in the front door, and immediately made sure to keep my emotions in check.
The house was bare. Completely bare. These people had nothing. It was a woman and her seven children. No furniture, no food, just the clothes on their backs. Nothing. I could actually hear my heart breaking. It literally looked like this (not their house, just what it looked like):
I went home and loaded up a small couch that I had laying around, and a folding table, and some toilet paper and paper towels and dish rags and dish towels and soap and some other basic necessities. I spoke to my boss on the phone, telling her the situation. She said if I purchased them dinner she would reimburse me for that. I picked up a huge dinner from KFC and dropped off the furniture, the food, and the basics. Then I went home.
I mixed a drink. I got a call from my sister-in-law who had just been talking to my husband (her brother) about what I had been up to. She wanted to help, so I hopped back in my truck and drove to St. Paul, where we loaded up more stuff and I returned for a third time to the house in North Minne. This time I came inside and had a beer. Then I had another. Then I had a cocktail. Then it was midnight. Then it was some drunk sex with my husband and a slightly hung-over morning.
I am SOOOOOOO good at justifying things. I justified getting drunk and apologizing to the family for my lack of a blaccent as something that I needed to do so that they wouldn't see what I was doing as charity, which nobody likes, and to see it instead as a neighbor helping a neighbor. How do I prove this? By drinking with them. How kind of me.
Today, I have loaded up a bunch of clothing being donated to the family from where I work, and was given money to buy them a gift card to the local grocery store, so I will be seeing them again tonight.
Last night, when questioned about my faith by the family (who wanted to bring me with them to church) I claimed to be Jewish. Dirty little secret #1-Not Jewish. Although, if you add to that my complete and utter lack of ability to create and enforce boundaries with people I am trying to help... that could be dirty secret number 2. Oh, and I think the family thinks my husband beats me. I didn't suggest this, but I remember when I finally left last night they were saying how I was too scared of my husband and I believe I heard whisperings about abuse. I am not abused, but didn't have the proper frame of mind to try to explain anything to anyone. I'll clarify tonight. Maybe. But probably not drink. Boundaries.
BUT - before I go there, I have a second date scheduled with my panty man! I have never heard someone get so worked up over panties - the emails he sends me are borderline crazy, but I'm excited to get the extra cash, because it will help with my next dirty little secret.
Dirty little secret: His name: Hector. Why is he a dirty little secret? Well, since I am so busy this evening selling my panties, buying and dropping off a gift card and some other goods to my new favorite charity family, and finishing by helping my crazy middle-aged diabetic pot-head neighbor get a job by trying again to teach him how to use craigslist and email, I simply have no time. After I do those things, I need to pick up a little more cash and go home and do some laundry and pick up some crap that I have laying all over my house. I have to get ready for Hector. Hector is coming tomorrow morning at 7:00 to clean my house and do my dishes so that I don't have to. I am very excited to meet Hector and pay him off with soiled panties money. I am also very excited to take credit to my husband that I did it all through some type of magical osmosis. Because I am definitely not admitting to my spouse that I am paying someone to clean my house when we both know that not only am I fully capable, but I have the time and am simply choosing not to do it.
But since my father in law is coming this weekend, and I would rather get myself into random crazy trouble than clean, what are my options? I mean, what are they really?
So I think (since it would be weird to just sit there while Hector cleans my house for me) I might ask a friend to meet me for breakfast tomorrow morning. You know, so I don't have to actually witness someone doing my work for me, and I can pretend it just happened through that magical osmosis I was referring to earlier.
He even changes linens (hence, why I have to at least do some laundry).
Oh, it will be lovely to come home to a clean house tomorrow after work, having done none of it myself.
A high-school friend (former BFF) wants me to go to a drag show with her tomorrow night, so I'm clearly not going to have time to clean then, either. And since my father in law is allergic to dogs... I simply have no other option but to have someone do my dirty work for me.
Today at work is going to be great, I can't wait to browse the craigslist missed connections, adult gigs, and casual encounters. Just another day in the good life...
Friday, July 30, 2010
Merit Badges, Dive Bars, and Parades
I'll start with the journalling part of the blog - last night I went to a parade with some friends and their son. Usually, I despise parades, do not like the idea of facepaint, and screaming children make me want to stick something sharp and weighted into my eye to distract me from the irritation that they bring with pain, even if only for a moment. However - last night was fun, it was different, and I had a really fun time playing swords with sticks in the yard with my little buddy after we got back to their place.
Perhaps I'm growing up.
I'm going out to Halek's tonight again, my favorite dive bar that is always my back-up on Fridays when I don't have other plans. Usually I can rope a friend or two into joining me. I love Halek's for all sorts of reasons, but mostly because I'm cheap and insecure. What I have found is that Halek's mixes its drinks stronger that an average gay bar, and the old dudes in the bar are lonely and will happily shell out for a few drinks for you for a little company, which is a win-win situation for everyone. Jeff, the bartender, recognizes me when I come in the door and I've made a few other random scattered acquaintances. I have to say that I really love the fact that on a Friday night, it isn't packed, and there are free appetizers during happy hour. Paired with strong, cheap drinks, and a host of interesting elders willing to buy them for me, (oh, and the fact that its the only bar in North Minneapolis that I really want to go to) and it is a recipe for all sorts of delightful disaster. Usually resulting in my spouse having to pick me up and bring me home... as I am unable to do it myself. The bar has been open since the 1940s, and used to be very popular. It seems to be just barely hanging on right now, so I feel I should do my civic duty to preserve part of history by drinking as much as I can there, and trying to get friends to do likewise.
Yup, I'm definitely growing up. That is very responsible and considerate of me to be thinking of supporting my community.
Finally, I had a genius idea this morning. Merit badges. I want merit badges surrounding where I work. I want matching uniforms for the cool co-workers that I have, and special merit badges that we can earn. Some ideas that I have for badges are:
- have been here long enough to feel mildly superior to annoying front desk temps merit badge
- have received a nickname from the Chief Operating Officer merit badge
- have held at least two different positions within the company merit badge
- have left and come back to work here again merit badge (I know two people for sure that could have this)
- have seen (or been drunk-texted by) at least 5 co-workers drunk merit badge
- has had creepy mailroom guy go out of his way to help you merit badge
- has successfully negotiated a raise merit badge
- have gotten the executive director to get your initials engraved on something for you
- have composed and written about 3/4 of a musical based on your workplace (my favorite song from this has to do with our scary elevators that are going to give out at any second. The song "elevator of doom" has just finished and our leading lady is dangling by the last thread. our hero, the goofy custodian, saves her, using nothing but his razor-sharp wit and his suspenders. At this point, the elevator crashes to the ground while they remain safely aloft. They then sing the love song "suspended in love." Its touching, really.)
There will be more, many more. But so far I'm mostly looking into merit badges I could already have won for one reason or another. And so far, I could actually have all of the above. That's a lot of merit badges.
Ok - I haven't grown up at all.
Perhaps I'm growing up.
I'm going out to Halek's tonight again, my favorite dive bar that is always my back-up on Fridays when I don't have other plans. Usually I can rope a friend or two into joining me. I love Halek's for all sorts of reasons, but mostly because I'm cheap and insecure. What I have found is that Halek's mixes its drinks stronger that an average gay bar, and the old dudes in the bar are lonely and will happily shell out for a few drinks for you for a little company, which is a win-win situation for everyone. Jeff, the bartender, recognizes me when I come in the door and I've made a few other random scattered acquaintances. I have to say that I really love the fact that on a Friday night, it isn't packed, and there are free appetizers during happy hour. Paired with strong, cheap drinks, and a host of interesting elders willing to buy them for me, (oh, and the fact that its the only bar in North Minneapolis that I really want to go to) and it is a recipe for all sorts of delightful disaster. Usually resulting in my spouse having to pick me up and bring me home... as I am unable to do it myself. The bar has been open since the 1940s, and used to be very popular. It seems to be just barely hanging on right now, so I feel I should do my civic duty to preserve part of history by drinking as much as I can there, and trying to get friends to do likewise.
Yup, I'm definitely growing up. That is very responsible and considerate of me to be thinking of supporting my community.
Finally, I had a genius idea this morning. Merit badges. I want merit badges surrounding where I work. I want matching uniforms for the cool co-workers that I have, and special merit badges that we can earn. Some ideas that I have for badges are:
- have been here long enough to feel mildly superior to annoying front desk temps merit badge
- have received a nickname from the Chief Operating Officer merit badge
- have held at least two different positions within the company merit badge
- have left and come back to work here again merit badge (I know two people for sure that could have this)
- have seen (or been drunk-texted by) at least 5 co-workers drunk merit badge
- has had creepy mailroom guy go out of his way to help you merit badge
- has successfully negotiated a raise merit badge
- have gotten the executive director to get your initials engraved on something for you
- have composed and written about 3/4 of a musical based on your workplace (my favorite song from this has to do with our scary elevators that are going to give out at any second. The song "elevator of doom" has just finished and our leading lady is dangling by the last thread. our hero, the goofy custodian, saves her, using nothing but his razor-sharp wit and his suspenders. At this point, the elevator crashes to the ground while they remain safely aloft. They then sing the love song "suspended in love." Its touching, really.)
There will be more, many more. But so far I'm mostly looking into merit badges I could already have won for one reason or another. And so far, I could actually have all of the above. That's a lot of merit badges.
Ok - I haven't grown up at all.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Panty Sniffer
Everyone blogs now, right? Well, its more anonymous than keeping a journal (that people can read and attribute to the actual person - namely, me, if they were to read it), and also more transportable - meaning I can do it at work, which I love because I clearly need more distraction in life.
So let's hop right in, because I don't know if tomorrow is going to bring something cooler or weirder, or if I'm going to hit a dry patch for a while and just continue to embellish on interesting things that have happened in the past.
I love craigslist. I love to fuck with people on craigslist, and I love starting conversations I will never follow through with on craigslist (cheaper and more varied than erotica). In doing this recently, I came across a group of people that have an incredible fetish - panties. I don't know why I haven't capitalized on this in the past! I immediately responded to a post requesting panties with "I have panties..." and quickly learned guys will pay upwards of $40 for a pair of soiled undergarments with which to feed their fetish. Easy money? Count me in.
The gentleman in question and I quickly established where the pickup/dropoff would be, and negotiated $40 as a fee. I was told to put them in a plastic bag and was to meet him in a parking lot, probably not safe, but I was feeling reckless. After work, I went home and removed my panties and put them into a bag, as requested. Then I mixed a gin & tonic for the road and drove to the Rainbow foods parking lot, and sat nervously. Waiting.
A few things went through my mind - am I crazy? Is this dangerous? Am I hot enough to make $40 for my panties?
Then I remembered that the person I had been corresponding with had refused to send me a picture of himself. I felt my mouth go dry and realized that the first guy who walked up to my truck with a peg leg and a half-melted face was probably my guy. I took another sip of my gin & tonic and wondered if my skirt made me look fat.
Nothing. I wait 20 minutes. Nothing.
I finally pull out of the parking lot, feeling completely rejected that the man who had the panty fetish had stood me up. Had he seen me from afar and thought that my poonani must smell like cabbage? C'mon, give my cooter carriers a sniff, I've never had any complaints. I think it smells a bit like potatoes.
So I get home and I sign onto my email and am about ready to e-yell at his ass, only to find about 4 emails hoping I hadn't left yet and explaining that he'd be late. We corresponded and he said he'd be there the next night.
Night 2: go home, put panties in a baggie, mix gin & tonic for the road. Get to the parking lot and pull into a spot. A cute, early 30s blond guy steps out of the car next to me and taps on the passenger side window. What? Mystery panty man? Is hot? Looks like he should be coaching little league? Cool.
He was a man of his word.
I drove home and told my husband about it - his response? "I'd sell my underwear for a lot less than that." So we're cool. Then he took me out to Target to buy a few pairs of new panties.
I received an email from my panty-loving pal later on. Apparently he was quite pleased with the product and suggested we do it again. I told him I would be happy to. He explained that I shouldn't worry about him wearing them or anything, because that's not what he does.
Of course not, because that would be weird.
I love craigslist.
So let's hop right in, because I don't know if tomorrow is going to bring something cooler or weirder, or if I'm going to hit a dry patch for a while and just continue to embellish on interesting things that have happened in the past.
I love craigslist. I love to fuck with people on craigslist, and I love starting conversations I will never follow through with on craigslist (cheaper and more varied than erotica). In doing this recently, I came across a group of people that have an incredible fetish - panties. I don't know why I haven't capitalized on this in the past! I immediately responded to a post requesting panties with "I have panties..." and quickly learned guys will pay upwards of $40 for a pair of soiled undergarments with which to feed their fetish. Easy money? Count me in.
The gentleman in question and I quickly established where the pickup/dropoff would be, and negotiated $40 as a fee. I was told to put them in a plastic bag and was to meet him in a parking lot, probably not safe, but I was feeling reckless. After work, I went home and removed my panties and put them into a bag, as requested. Then I mixed a gin & tonic for the road and drove to the Rainbow foods parking lot, and sat nervously. Waiting.
A few things went through my mind - am I crazy? Is this dangerous? Am I hot enough to make $40 for my panties?
Then I remembered that the person I had been corresponding with had refused to send me a picture of himself. I felt my mouth go dry and realized that the first guy who walked up to my truck with a peg leg and a half-melted face was probably my guy. I took another sip of my gin & tonic and wondered if my skirt made me look fat.
Nothing. I wait 20 minutes. Nothing.
I finally pull out of the parking lot, feeling completely rejected that the man who had the panty fetish had stood me up. Had he seen me from afar and thought that my poonani must smell like cabbage? C'mon, give my cooter carriers a sniff, I've never had any complaints. I think it smells a bit like potatoes.
So I get home and I sign onto my email and am about ready to e-yell at his ass, only to find about 4 emails hoping I hadn't left yet and explaining that he'd be late. We corresponded and he said he'd be there the next night.
Night 2: go home, put panties in a baggie, mix gin & tonic for the road. Get to the parking lot and pull into a spot. A cute, early 30s blond guy steps out of the car next to me and taps on the passenger side window. What? Mystery panty man? Is hot? Looks like he should be coaching little league? Cool.
Then again, Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy weren't slouches, either... I mean, look at how much Jeffrey Dahmer looks like Ryan Seacrest:
But he hopped in, shook my hand, smiled and made me feel comfortable. Said that now since we'd broken the ice hopefully things would be less strange if we met up again. Then he bid me good evening and stepped out of the truck, panty sack in paw. I was about to ask about the $40, when I looked down and saw that he'd very discreetly put it in my purse.
He was a man of his word.
I drove home and told my husband about it - his response? "I'd sell my underwear for a lot less than that." So we're cool. Then he took me out to Target to buy a few pairs of new panties.
I received an email from my panty-loving pal later on. Apparently he was quite pleased with the product and suggested we do it again. I told him I would be happy to. He explained that I shouldn't worry about him wearing them or anything, because that's not what he does.
Of course not, because that would be weird.
I love craigslist.
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