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(Work) Wedding Bells

30 May

Everybody, I have an exciting announcement: yours truly is getting married!!  That’s right!  For the first time in about 3 years I’m going to have myself a work husband.  So excited!!

There’s something so special about the relationship between work spouses.  There’s a fine balance between friendship, intimacy (in a mostly non-sexual way), and professionalism (kind of).  Your work spouse is the one who you know can keep a secret, who you give pep talks to when they’re feeling blue and who’ll do the same for you, the one who you trouble shoot with, and celebrate with when one of you has a win.  They’re the ones you have secret exchanges with in meetings.  Kind of like a work bestie – only with way more flirting.

In the past I had Disney and I had Folgers.  I even had a boss with dreamy blue eyes who I was promoted above and then I made him sit next to me and we would distract each other from work for ages and now when I see him I want to climb in his lap and tell him to hold me.  Actually, I wanted to do those things when we worked together.  Alas, he was married.  He still is.  God damn it.

My new work husband, or maybe he’s a secret work husband since he doesn’t know about it yet, has just been hired.  He wears pin striped suits with suspenders.  He is funny and charming.  He is sharp.  We’re going to hit it off and soon we’ll be off at lunch excluding the other leader who has a shitty attitude about life.  I can’t even wait!

He reminds me of Monsieur le Baguette a little bit.  Only a bit more conservative and with dimples.

A real life boyfriend and a real life secret work husband.  Both with dreamy eyes and charming personalities.  What could possibly go wrong?

Life is good, my friends.

Un-boyfriend unprepared

23 Mar

As I was perusing the face pages earlier this week a memory popped up reminding me that Un-boyfriend and his wife were celebrating 8 years of marriage.  Un-boyfriend and I dated briefly when I was in my early 20’s.  Some people thought we would end up together, he was one of those people.  Our relationship morphed from a romantic one into more of a brother-sister.  Over the years we’ve stayed in touch and will text/email from time to time.  Typically it’s to send loving messages such as:

  • You’re dead to me.
  • Goodbye forever.
  • You’re dead inside.

True friendship.

When the memory popped up in my Facebook feed I immediately sent him a text message to wish him and his wife a happy anniversary.  He immediately fired back with, “Is it today?  Or yesterday? Holy fuck I totally forgot.  Am out of town and haven’t said anything to her yet.”  Of course I wrote back to tell him he was a total asshole and he better call her and send her some god damned flowers.

Guess I shouldn’t be surprised as he’s the same man who I remind every single year for the last 20 to call his mother on her birthday.  I’ve added a reminder to my calendar to remind him when it’s his anniversary.  I’m a good god damned friend.

Nice to know that some things never change.

The Chess Player

17 Mar

You know sometimes on a Friday all you want to do is crawl in bed. As you’re settling in for the afternoon thinking about what you’ll do for dinner one of your friends calls and convinces you to go out for a drink.  So you grumble under your breath while you get dressed and do your make up and say yourself, “I’m going to stay out for max two drinks, and I’ll be in my flannel jammies by 8:30.”  You drive downtown because uber is stupid expensive due to peak hours and think that driving will make it easier for you to sneak out early.  And oh look, a princess parking spot in front of the bar!

You’re winning already.

You head upstairs, see your friends and think it’s a good idea to start with a gin and tonic (extra limes) because your friends have been drinking beer since noon and you kinda feel like you should catch up even though you’re going to stay out for max two drinks.  More people start arriving and it turns out they work for your old company and so you start making all of the connections and someone asks you why your drink is empty and you order some water because you’re pacing yourself because you’ll have to drive home later.  And then it’s time to order an orange crush and you are talking to your friend’s boyfriend and he asks what you’re drinking and when you tell him he tells you you’re “crushin it” and you can’t help but lolz.

That’s when he introduces you to the tall drink of water who just moved to the area a few months ago.  He’s 33.  He’s smart.  He’s interesting.  You casually sip your drink while you flirt with him for awhile.  You’re introduced to other people who end up standing between the two of you so you move on and glance over every once in awhile and he keeps looking at you.

You’re finishing your drink and it’s time to go home.  Some of your friends are getting ready to leave for another bar and you’re going to go ahead and go and then the tall drink of water asks, “are you coming?” as he’s being dragged out the door.  Game time decision here.  That’s when you say to your other friends, “let’s go for one drink.”

So you find yourself walking 10 blocks to the next bar and when you get there he’s saved you a seat and asks you if he can buy you a drink.  Meanwhile you’re thinking, “what the fuck is happening and why the hell not?”  Because when was the last time you went out to a bar, met someone who was cute and charming who wanted to buy you a drink and who you wanted to flirt with?  You sit down and order the drink and he sits next to you.  When two more seats become available he holds the seats and your friends try to cock block you and you say, “no, no, you sit here and I’ll move down,” so you can sit next to him.

You sit your ass down on that barstool and you order another drink.  You find yourself talking about travel, and work, and family, and regrets, and basketball, and moving to a new city, and all sorts of stuff while he gazes at you with his blue eyes.  You start talking about chess and find out he’s one of those guys who can read all the moves in advance and you ask him if he can do that in life and he tells you, “usually.”  You wonder if he already knows how this is going to play out and if he’s calculating what moves he’ll make to get the outcome he wants.  You ask yourself, “I wonder if he knows how old I am?”  Obviously you look for an opportunity to drop it into the conversation and when you do he doesn’t blink an eye, he just goes with it.

Your other friends decide they’re going to leave, so only the two of you are left.

The Chess Player keeps gazing at you and he grabs your hands, and he gives you this look, and you ask, “what’s that look?” He responds, “I’m thinking about kissing you,” as he tugs your hands towards him and you lean forward.  That’s when you start making out at the bar.  In the middle of March Madness.  Surrounded by people cheering on UMBC.  It’s just the two of you.  Suddenly it’s 10:30.  You’ve been at the bar over three hours.  Where did the time go?

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” he asks.  You find yourself saying, “yes”.  He picks up the tab and you walk the 10 blocks back to your car to drive to his place.  You’re thinking, “am I really going home with this guy?  Yes, yes I am.”  When was the last time you went home with someone you met at a bar?  Was it college?  Shortly after, at least 10 years ago.  A lifetime ago.  Sure, you had an exceptional romp the night before – thanks to Tinder – but this is the type of chemistry real life has produced.

Why not just go with it?

You’re at his place.  It’s pretty swanky.  Incredible view of the city.  Then you’re on the couch and your top is on the floor, quickly followed by just about everything else and he says, “we can always go in there,” gesturing to his bedroom.  You hop off his lap and lead him into his room and crawl into his bed.  There you proceed to lose every last stitch of clothing and remain for the next couple of hours.

When it’s done, he wraps his arms around you and you lay there and talk about work and whatever and nothing and he says, “you’re hot, you know that.  Right?”  You say, “thank you.” and think to yourself, “maybe I’m kinda decent looking if I’ve made out with four guys in eight days and ended up in various states of undress with each of them.”  You ask him if he had played this out and calculated the moves it would take to get to his bedroom.  He says, “yes.”  He tells you he’d read the signals.  There were only two options, yes or no, and the signals all pointed to yes.

He says, “you can stay.”  You get up and get dressed, he asks for your number.  You walk out.  He texts you before you get to the car.

You think to yourself, “I’m a fucking sex panther.”

Reset the counter.

Mr. Clean

14 Mar

When I was in college I had a friend who looked exactly like Mr. Clean – including the gold hoop earrings.  He was a nice guy, the kind of guy you could date long term, but not the kind that you want for a quick romp.  I had a few girlfriends who had crushes on him, he didn’t quite do it for me.  I tried to like him “like that”, just didn’t feel it.  We were lacking the spark, at least on my end.

He was good friends with Lawman, one of my secret boyfriends who was hot like the sun.   Now Lawman was the the type of guy that could sweet talk any girl into losing her panties at the foot of his bed.  He and I had crazy chemistry. On Thursdays of my senior year we had a class together at 3:00.  We’d meet at 11:00 at the student center and spend hours together flirting with one another.  The best time ever.  He had a pretty crazy girlfriend who he cheated on pretty frequently.  They ended up breaking up, I slept with him, and then she wanted to kill me in a bar.  It was great.  Mr. Clean knew all the sordid details – all of them, because Lawman told me that he had told Mr. Clean.

A few months after I hooked up with Lawman, Mr. Clean started pursuing me pretty hard.  I had known he liked me, and he amped up the flirting.  Still wasn’t quite where he was, even though there were times I thought, “maybe I should just date him, he’s a nice guy.”  One day he showed up at my house for some forgotten reason.  I was in the kitchen with my back to him when suddenly he was standing behind me, pressed up against me with his head buried in my neck.  Okay, he had my attention.  “Why not?” I thought.  Turned around and we started making out.  No spark.  Have you ever kissed someone when you weren’t feeling it?  It’s kind of like eating very bland food – not a great experience.  He propped me up on the counter and we kept making out.  Meanwhile I was trying to figure out what I needed to do to get him out of the house.  Instead, I just went along with it.

He tried to lure me into the bedroom, but I wouldn’t budge – my ass stayed planted firmly on the kitchen counter.  Then, he did something exceptionally irritating: he attempted to try a bit of dirty talk.  He was telling me all of the things he wanted to do to me once he got me into my room.  I’m totally down for some dirty talk.  The right words can be wicked hot.  Tell me what you like.  Tell me what you’re going to do to me.  Tell me what you want.  Tell me what you’ve been thinking.  Fucking hot, right?

**Swoon**

Not this guy.  It was the tone of his voice along with what he was saying that was awkward as all fuck.  I think there were too many, “mmm’s” in there.  I’m pretty sure I was rolling my eyes behind my closed lids.  Way to kill the mood.  I finally figured out a way to get him off me and talked him into leaving.  I believe it was under the guise of “ruining the friendship” or some other bullshit.  That was the one and only time we ever hooked up and I ever had to listen to him saying, “mmm…your body would feel so good underneath mine.”

**Gag**

Some men are almost poetic with the way they can string together a few dirty words, while others can attempt the same thing and totally kill a lady boner.

Gimmie Love

8 Mar

Dear younger sister, or really, dear only sister.  Now’s the time for you to go and find something else to do and not read the post.  What’s for dinner tonight?  Are you and the kids going out since my brother-in-law is heading out of town?  May I recommend something delicious for tacos?  Because tacos are always good.  Get on that.  And stop reading.  Thank you.  Goodbye.

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Maybe don’t eat that

21 Feb

For Christmas this year, Oingo Boingo received a subscription box of Japanese treats.  He’s moderately obsessed/addicted to all things Japanese.  Sure, he says he could stop anytime he wanted, but his wife, Jersey Belle, and I know that he’d sooner be on the street giving blowies to strangers to make money for another plane ticket across the world.  We know the truth.

This months’ box included some crispy squid snacks!!  Oingo Boingo is pretty adventurous when it comes to food.  While many of us would have looked at the container and thought, “there is no way, no day that’s going in my mouth,” (that’s what she said) he was game.  His assessment?

If you crossed a whore’s vagina and a trash can in the middle of the summer at a seafood restaurant, you still wouldn’t come close to the awfulness.

There you have it folks.  Should someone offer you some, perhaps you should pass.