Tag Archives: klassy

Inspiring others through leadership

22 Aug

At Widgets and Co. we spend a whole lot of time talking about the role of a supervisor and how micro managing is bad.  The worst thing a boss can do is look over someone’s shoulder while telling them how to do their job.  Scratch that, maybe it’s not the worst thing to do.  Touching your people inappropriately, and threatening not to promote them unless they touch your wiener (with the back of their throat), are way worse.  Still, micro managing is pretty bad.

Part of what I do in my job is try to figure out how help people be stronger managers.  Which is somewhat ironic since I myself have never been one, but whatevs.  There’s  a lot of blah blah blah on how to inspire others, and that by inspiring other people they’ll want to follow you (thereby maybe wanting your wiener to touch the back of their throat).

Recently, my ex-boss (the hot one) turned 38.  I sent hi a text message telling him he was still doable (or at least wishing him a happy birthday).  His response was nothing but pure inspiration.  Take a look…

Yes!  You are the first to wish me a happy b-day. Even though it’s at an ungodly early time, I am up and ready to party. As an older man, please allow me to share some wisdom:  if it’s yellow let it mellow, if it’s brown flush it down.

His wisdom has touched me in so many ways…but not in the back of my throat.

Yet.

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American Girls are Stupid Sluts

28 Jan

My poor, poor inner thighs are chafed from walking all over town yesterday in the hot hot heat.  Clear sign that my fatness is getting in my way of a good time.  The only thing that seems to help is taking the cookie I’m about to eat and rubbing it on my inner thighs before popping it in my mouth.  I was out half the day with that friend of a friend who I wrote about yesterday.  There is only one word to describe her: skank.

“Have you ever done drugs before?”  This is what she asked me within an hour of meeting her.  “Not really my scene,” I told her.  Which is totally true. We were sitting in a window seat at this cute little cafe.  Me feeling fat, her dressed like she had just come in from a run, and her “friend” who hadn’t been home since the night before and was nursing a terrible hangover.  That’s when she announced to me that she had tried drugs for the first time the night before.  I thought to myself, “ah, how cute, she smoked a joint for her first time.”  That’s when she leans over to her “friend” from last night and asks, “what was it I had?”  My jaw about hit the floor when I heard him say, “cocaine and MDMA.”  Seriously?  You’ve never tried drugs in your life and you go for that heavy shit?  What the fuck is wrong with you??

Know what the really fucked up part was (as if that wasn’t fucked up enough), she got the drugs from complete strangers.

Um, really?  You took drugs from strangers?  Are you kidding me right now?  Second, you’re now telling a complete stranger (me) about this?  What the fuck is wrong with you?  It was at that moment that I realized that she was a complete fucking idiot.  Yes, I somewhat suspected it when she introduced me to her Aussie friend who had beautiful blue-green eyes and smelled like last night’s whiskey.  And maybe my suspicious were heightened when she told me that they’d only slept an hour because they’d been out partying last night.  But who am I to judge (other than the world’s judge-iest of judgers)?  Young people today like to party.  He was 24, she apparently had just turned 30.  There’s a big fucking difference between 40 and 30 – and that lifestyle is just not for me.

So there she is telling me about her experience with drugs while I’m thinking “when can I leave.”  When the dude went off to the bathroom she then announces to me that they made out the night before, they ended up naked together, and he had wanted to go down on her but she kept telling him no.  You see, she had zero desire in hooking up with him, and had her period.  But did she tell him?  Nope.  She just went ahead and kept making out with him.  Whatever.  Then she said, “it’s not like I even flirt with him, I don’t know why he thinks I’d hook up with him.”

Um, really?  Maybe he thinks that because you took drug with strangers, took your clothes off and rubbed your buddy all over his, and then kept your hand on his thigh the entire time we were at lunch.  I’m thinking that sends a pretty strong signal.

Instead of coming up with a really creative excuse, like I had just developed the bubonic plague or I had to get home in time to feed my pet koala, I agreed to drinks at a few rooftop bars.  Why?  Why did I agree to this?  Mainly because I’m part idiot on my dad’s side.  So off we go to a few bars, and at the second one she strikes up a conversation with a few dudes.  Hot.  These dudes were hot.  Let me remind you that she hasn’t showered, probably is coated in the semen of the guy who we were with, and has only slept an hour.  Know what ends up happening?  We all end up at a table together.

About an hour in I ditched them to come home and hang out in my apartment, detox from her skankiness, and shower off the dirty.  Later that night she messages me that she made out with a guy that she met that afternoon in front of the dude she hooked up with last night.

No fucking wonder that everyone in the world thinks American girls are stupid sluts.

Proof He Wants Me

8 Mar

At least he does in my mind…

So yesterday my boss and I were off to a meeting together, the following conversation ensued.

  • Hot Boss with Dreamy Blue Eyes: I have to go stop in the bathroom.  Can you wait for me?
  • Me: Sure.  Do you want me to hold your stuff?
  • HBwDBE: Great! [Hands me his coffee and folder] I have to take a dump.  KIDDING!
  • Me: Good luck!  If you’re not out in five minutes I’ll send help.

That totally happened.  He said that to me.  I’d still totally make out with him.

She Flashed Her Pancakes

17 Apr

Being a stupid whore must be hard. You have to have just the right balance of stupid, and whore. That’s too complicated for me. I’d rather focus my efforts on being a drunk whore. Stupid takes too much effort. Besides, there are plenty of stupid whores out there, take Train Wreck for example.

In my last post I mentioned that dumb shit she had done on Saturday. Apparently, it got worse after I left. Take a look at the text exchange I had with Biggie yesterday:

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She is a mess.  According to our other friend who was there she “flashed her tits at the bar”.  “Why?” you ask?  Because she wanted attention.  And also, because she is a stupid whore.

Protected: Sunday Night Swingfest

8 Jan

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The Details

9 Jul

A few of you have asked for details from the Saturday night “festivities”. I’ll provide you with the short and sweet version, and the longer much less sweet version.  Please enjoy. . .

Short and Sweet

We were both drunk, we started hooking up at the bar and moved it over to my room. I served him up a Bartles & Jaymes, he reciprocated. We hit it and it was superb. Sadly, there was no cookie. He slept over, I kicked him out at 8:30. We met up with friends for brunch around noon. Said our goodbyes shortly thereafter, and the story ends there.

Long and Dirty

It’s been a few months since I last saw Notebook as he’s moved to another state. Somehow, he talked me into picking him up at the airport. We met at the terminal, and my God, that boy has a sweet ass body. He was wearing a polo shirt that hugged him in all the right places. Yummy! I was hoping beyond hope that we’d end up hooking up at some point, but was pretty sure that it wasn’t going to happen. We drove to the hotel, ran into the groomsmen and groom, met up with some friends, grabbed a bite to eat and then checked into our rooms. We had about ½ an hour to get ready and report back to the lobby for the shuttle that would take us to the wedding location.

Fast forward 30 minutes, we’re all back in the lobby. The wedding was held in this gorgeous Hunt club out in the country, and I was pleasantly surprised to see a lot of old people. This meant one thing: there were less eligible bachelorettes available to him. Unfortunately, it also meant that there would be less options for me if things didn’t pan out with Notebook. We sat together through the service (which was the most beautiful ceremony I’ve ever seen), attended the cocktail hour and then went to our table.Much to my chagrin, I realized that there were 3 other ladies sitting at our table. I was clever in my seating arrangement as I had him sit between me and our guy friend that was there-less access to the bachelorettes. When they came to the table, I realized it was all for nothing-not cute. Reception was a great time, the alcohol flowed freely, there was plenty of flirting, and zero opportunity for him to flirt with anyone else. There was, however, plenty of opportunity for me to make friends with the tall, dark, and handsome groomsman from New York.

New York was handsome, and I was warned about him. The best man and the groom himself told me he was a dog. Guess what? Dogs work pretty well for a hook up, especially ones that are as tall, dark, and handsome as New York was. Things seemed to be working out pretty well, and I took it as a good sign when the wedding party left before we did, and New York told me he’d meet me back at the hotel bar. This led me to believe that I had acquired my target for the evening.

Fast forward 30 minutes, we’re all at the bar. Some people have changed, I’m still in my kick ass dress and my gorgeous heals. I kept going back and forth between New York and Notebook. As I began complaining about how painful my shoes were, New York suggested that I run back to my room to change my shoes. My room was conveniently located down the hall from the bar-I didn’t even have to bother with the elevator. Ran to my room, ran back, handed my room key to Notebook as I had left my purse in my room, New York bought me a drink, we flirted some, then New York excused himself to run to the men’s room. At this point, I went to talk to Notebook who was sitting at the bar. He said, “come here,” grabbed the back of my head, and we started making out at the bar. Klassy. Somewhere in the back of my mind it occurred to me that New York would probably not want to hook up with me if he saw me making out with Notebook at the bar. Drunken thoughts are funny to me.

As last call had occurred, the lights had been turned on, and management had decided it was time for us to leave, Notebook was kind enough to escort me back to my room. How very convenient that he had my room key (god I’m so smart and clever sometimes). We went into the room, I turned on the lamp next to the bed, sat on the king sized bed, and he sat down next to me. We started to snog some more. Suddenly, we were horizontal.

For about 30 seconds I questioned how far I was going to let him get. Then I thought, “Fuck it. Why not just go all the way?” My dress was soon lifted, lowered and crushed between us. He had a belt that required in-depth training to figure out how to remove. He was down to nothing in about a half an hour. I was down to almost nothing shortly thereafter. I provided a synopsis of events in the Short and Sweet version, all two of you that were interested in knowing what happened will have to be satisfied with that.

We hooked up 2 years ago and I had thought that he’d be a good shag. That’s an understatement. He was superb. Why? God only knows. I think it’s a combination of factors: he’s smoking hot, we have great chemistry, he knows what he’s doing and I had wanted him for a long time. Granted, sometimes that leads to disappointment, but not in this case-he far exceeded my expectations.

After it was all said and done with, I planned on kicking him out of my room. I’m not the type that likes to have sleepovers with hook ups. For me, it’s much easier to establish boundaries when we don’t snuggle up afterwards. My usual way of getting them to get dressed and go home is by using this wonderful line: I’ll be asleep by the time that you get home. They usually get the message, and call it a night. Unfortunately, this didn’t work out on Saturday. When I came out of the bathroom, he was already tucked in under the covers. Damn him! I sucked it up and let him sleep in the bed with me.

I woke a few times and was so delighted with myself when I turned to see his naked form sleeping next to me. Truly a beautiful site to behold. Seriously, he has a kick ass body. Kick ass. Ugh, I’m so proud of myself for getting to see it in all it’s glory. Go me!! I woke up at 6:30 with a crushing headache and my stomach churning. Went back to sleep until 7:00. I started rolling around in the bed and sighing out loud in hopes that he’d wake up and leave. It didn’t work. I got up to take a shower at 8:00 and prayed that I wouldn’t get sick while he was room. I woke his ass up around 8:15 and told him that if he wanted to sleep anymore, he’d have to go up to his room. He left. 20 minutes later, I puked. So hot. . .Thank freaking god that he wasn’t there for that. THANK GOD!!

We met up for brunch at noon with our other friends. I mentioned nothing to them, and figured he would do the same. He started asking me questions that I figured they would find suspicious: What did you do after I left? Did you go back to sleep? Guess we weren’t keeping it a secret like I thought we would. Oh well. When it was time to go, he walked me to my car, kissed me, and we said good bye.

I guarantee that I will never see him again, and if I do, there will never be any mention of Saturday night. I’m okay with that. I’m just wicked super psyched and pleased that I finally got to see him naked and it was everything that I imagined and hoped it would be.

Go me!