Ok, one and all, I’ve had it.
I’m pretty fed up with a managerial style as comfy as sojourn in an iron maiden.
So, I’m going to look for a new job… and hopefully a new place to live. I’m thinking somewhere around Palm Springs, but I’m open to suggestions.
So, bring on the help, my fablous internet friends.
And no, Pistols… I will not be a call girl. Or, if I do, you don’t get any discounts.
Hahaha, miss discontented
I just dropped in to say, i am now here: http://psychosec.wordpress.com
Oh! It’s ME! THE GUV!
HEY! You’re ALIVE! This is GREAT!
Thanks, Guv…
This is really a discussion better suited to a pantsless conversation during my refractory period. Especially if you’re going to move far away soon.
Hey, I was all for some crazy Pistols love–all 20, fabulous, intoxicating, and enlightening seconds of it–but you burned me, remember? All over the fear of being shot. What drivel…
I am very get-overable, I’ll admit, but you know what really helps a gal get over me? That 20 seconds.
Still, I will admit that I do fear being shot in general. It’s a phobia of mine.
When the pain becomes too much, or if I do leave, let’s go get us a discount at one of those by-the-hour motels off of 495, k? I think I might need some closure.
That does sound magical, miss. And you’ll be ready for closure after 21 seconds, when you’ll say things like “That didn’t even count,” or “Now I’ve got to go find a real man.”
or, as my personal favorite: “thank god I’m leaving. It’d probably be embarrassing if I ran into him somewhere public, and started laughing like this again.”