I wanna meet that Dad

What I pack for an overnight at the boyfriend's:

clean underwear, socks and shirt, comfortable shoes, something "more comfortable", pj's for after the something "more comfortable" gets sticky and I start to freeze, face cleanser, moisturizer, hand cream, brush, blow drier, mousse, hair wax, basic make-up, pillow (he has a cat, I'm allergic, it helps to have my own pillow-I stick his between my legs because of my hip issue-heh heh), hand towel, Kashi Go-Lean bar, bright orange base-ball cap in case I don't feel like doing my hair in the morning even though I always do, a bottle of water, vibrator, warming massage lotion (which we've never used, though it's opened up and leaked a few times), and pocket book

What he brings for a stay at my house:

two dogs

Signs Your Local Neighborhood Bagel Boy May Be Using Coke

Brian the 27 year old Bagel Boy was a witty young man who bantered with me in the morning over orders of egg white omelet no butter bagels. When he moved on to greener pastures as a pastry chef, I actually missed him a great deal. I interacted with him on a daily basis-more often than I talk to close friends and family. He even tried hooking me up with another customer one time.

I was leery of his replacements-two young, handsome African American men in baggy jeans and baseball caps. Sure, they were competent cooks and great eye candy, but I was afraid I was doomed to mornings of, "Yes, ma'am, how may I help you?"

Pretty quickly I was getting winks from the taller of the two, an extra muffin on a holiday, and my bagels were burned just the way I like them. Once he saw how the owner and I goofed around when other customers weren't present, he and his friend began chatting with me-when the boss wasn't there.

"Hey, what are you up to this weekend?"
"Going to see my boyfriend-his kids are home from college."
"What?"
"Oh-yeah. You do know the teenager I come in with occasionally is my son."
"Ok, ok-but I thought you was like 28 or something."
At this point, I fall instantly in love with him. Do I look 28? Hell, no, but I'll take it.
"28? How could I be 28 with a 16 year old?"

The guys look at each other.

"We just figured you got started early." Well, I kinda did, but wasn't going to go into the 13 year age difference between my boyfriend and me.

So I left feeling like a million bucks, even if it was just goofing around, and looking forward to daily before-work flirting.
Until...
Another female customer and I are waiting in line. Mr. Wink pops out.
"How may I help you?"
The customer responds with a simple order, and Mr. Wink begins.

"Wow, we're busy today with large orders. Have to have my A-game on. Speedy speedy." He looks at me and recites my daily order. "See, I know what she wants, like I can read people. Reminds me of this movie with Tom Cruise and an older actor, what's his name. The older guy, he's kind of a con artist, and he's kind of showing Tom how to con but is his friend, and they're like playing pool, and the older guy says, 'Look over there, that guy is hitting on that girl, but she gonna turn him down, but I'll go right over and get her number.' And Cruise is thinking, No way, but sure enough, the older guy walks over and gets her number in like one minute because what Cruise doesn't know is that the guy knows the girl and just really went over and said hi. Like a trick. Twelve seventy fine."

The woman blankly gives him a twenty. Mr. Wink opens the cash register.

"Look at all these guys." We look at him, befuddled.
"Look at all these presidents. I open this drawer every day and I'm like, What are these guys going to say to me today? Like they can talk, y'all."

So my fantasy of fucking him on the prep table is shot to shit.

I've heard snappier comebacks from a bowl of Rice Krispies

Hmm, what do I hate the most....sbc, Norton anti-virus or Mozilla? Listen, people, my computer is a slut. She is riddled with the technological equivalents of herpes, chlamydia and genital warts. Add to the trusted sites list? Can a computer really ever trust a site? She fell for that sweet listing about small woodland animals then cried for a week after she saw the pictures. Telling her that she's protected from catching anything online is like fucking her in the ass with a condom, then blowing a load in her mouth and expecting her to swallow. Sure, she likes it, but safe? I think not.

I supposed to go to NYC tomorrow (yep, the Annie song is in my head), but I'm hacking up green phlegm. (Oooh, now Cabaret: "I have p-leg-mah in my buzum.") I hate being sick on sick days.

Oh my, was that me?

Last night's large snack of chili, cheese and red pepper hummus forced me to construct a breathing apparatus, involving a snorkel, vacuum hose and a role of duct tape, that ran from my bedroom to a kitchen window.

There's still a foul cloud hanging above my bed.

This is me trying to give you an olive basket

"I can tell you're really turned on when your knees sweat."

I love that man.
He loves my ass.

http://horrorsociety.com/2008/01/02/bikini-bloodbath-2/

Boobs

After a good night's sleep, a massive dump and some re-reading, I guess I understand. I'll just read boobs instead. I mean Boobs.

Blog this!

Ok, I will.

I blog on a blog, unapologetically and without shame. Is most of it crap? Sure. Is most of it true? Surprisingly, yes. Do I know how to use commas? Yes. Do I proof my comma/punctuation usage on this blog or any other? Nope. Why? Because it is informal writing (and I do not use that term in any sort of literary sense.) Why do I bother with a blog (or blogs)? For my own amusement, and the occasional amusement of my friends and evil squirrels. I am a silly woman, and this a great outlet for my silliness, and I, unlike my *former favorite online writer, know how to lighten the fuck up.

*Fine, no one has replaced her yet, but I'm looking. LOOKING!