I have nothing to do.  I mean nothing.  I’ve cleaned my desk.  Twice.  I’m even volunteering for things.  This is not normal.  And the Gorgon actually blessed me for volunteering to take something over for her.  I’m afraid, now.

When someone refers to you as a member of their ’stable,’ should you be offended? Or better yet, when someone refers to themselves as a part of yours, should you start to re-think your current lifestyle?

During some of his ever more subtle “I think I’m gonna get some” flirting, I mentioned my little problems that started with the really bad storm, and BS#1 countered with:

The quicky booty calls from the stable are very key. I am surprised no calls.

I am honestly flattered. And pissed off as hell, at the same time. Firstly, that he thinks I’m going to keep having causal sex, and with him. Secondly, it seems that I have a very nice stable. All purebreds, and year round studs for having won the Triple Crown. Repeatedly. So, ego boost right there. But how DARE he think I’m just going to be one of his little fillies? This isn’t as hypocritical as it sounds. Or appears to be. Or is. I never thought I owned rights or even riding privileges to my ‘boys.’ How dare he think he does of me?!

Dammit. Do people really think this way? Is this another one of those instances where I spent way too much of my college career going to class and doing homework, or being otherwise cripplingly intoxicated the rest of the time, to understand the subtle nuances and rules that go along with casual sex? WHAT AM I MISSING HERE?

(Oh, besides the desire to demean myself anymore, that is… Or, more importantly, put forth the effort into something that just isn’t worth it? I’m too lazy. If boyfriend material comes along, then yeah, I’ll play. But I’m tired of waisting my time and effort on my ’stable.’)

If you speak — or think — in passing of someone you have no intention of putting forth the effort to speak to — or think of — again, “speak of the Devil, and he shall appear” applies to everyone you know that shares that same name.

Welcome back into contact, BS #2.

My fabulous manager is away for the majority of the time now. You would think that everyone is taking advantage of not being yelled at, not being used — and by that I mean doing her job for her — and not having her hair raising presence breathing down their necks at all hours of the work day. In fact, we find that we might actually have some free time at the end of the day. My direct supervisor might actually get to go home before 7pm, and then stay on call for all of the Gorgon’s 2:00am text messages, and phone calls of things she wants to discuss, but is either too lazy to write down and bring them up the next day, or she just wants to make sure that no one gets any more sleep than she does. I haven’t had to start working at 7:15 or 7:30 just to get all the administrative and reception work done, or be sneaky about how late I stay just to answer all of her crazy assed demands throughout the day. Our conference coordinator has relaxed to the point of smiling several times a day, and even cracking jokes followed by surprisingly normal sounding laughter — not his typical, hysterically twinged facsimile of it. Our office coordinator seems to radiate calm, now that he’s able to deal with those office problems immediately after being made aware of them, instead of having to explain and apologize for why he hasn’t dealt with them before he’s even been made aware of them. Though I haven’t seen him yet, I’m sure that our Assistant IT guy is quite happy to not have her yelling at him from out of her open office door, when her computer doesn’t work exactly the way she wants it to, and having to use his several thousand dollar degree to fix a simple reboot problem, yet again.

What can I say? It’s nice not having to do someone else’s job, or having to explain every move you make to the world’s scariest grandmother.

BS #1 is back, ladies and gentleman. (Anyone else have a feeling I go through these people too quick? Yeah, me neither.)

In a fit of uncharacteristic magnanimous, munificence, I decided to wish everyone I know to be as big a loser as I am — meaning we all have facebook — a happy hump day last week.

And what do I get for my trouble?

How you been? Thought about you the other day? Summer going well?

-BS #1

His questionable use of punctuation aside, isn’t it strange how a simple question can leave me ‘weak in the knees,’ and fighting my better instincts to run far far away? This bad news bears character, known here as BS #1, has always been very very good in bed. In very very naughty ways. I enjoy breaking several laws with him, but am too catholic to not feel the pain of doing all these naughty things with him, while his girlfriend du jour is thinking herself safely and happily ensconced within an equally monogamous relationship. (well… mostly. There’s always an exception to every rule.) But I’ve already used my one karmic exception, and I’m trying to be good, and do good for me.

Damn, stupid promises made to myself. Looks like I’m just going to have to get really drunk this weekend and recycle someone else. Or maybe start something new? We’ll see.

Easy? Yeah, Pistols. I’d say I pretty much am.

“Show this to your boss” might not be the best title for a penile enlargement spam e-mail.

Today’s post, ladies and gentlemen, is about thripples. And their shock value. Imagine this:

Dark crowded bar. I am on a date with they guy from the Wendy’s drive through. He’s tanked. I call my friend Felicity to come save me. She brings her straight, but utterly gay friend with her–the one she picked up in a bar, because she felt bad that no one was dancing with him.*

So when they get there, I try to make subtle hints to leave my increasingly ham handed date, but Felicity wasn’t budging.

“So? Tell me one thing about yourself that no one at this table knows.” She softly yells at him over our drinks, and a very bad live band.

“Well,” he slurs, lopsidedly grinning at her “I have a third nipple.”

And Muphy’s law came into effect beautifully with everyone in the bar either inhaling, or drinking, and the band ending their first set as Felicity smirks at me before she yells out “Really? Gnugs has one too! right there, under her right boob! Let me see! let him see!” And she reaches across the table to yank my shirt down.

Now, my stunning social skills were able to rectify the situation, and I was able to leave the bar, and drive my worthless date back to his parent’s house, where I left him stumbling up the front steps. **

And so now you know the story of the thripple.***

*She had tears in her eyes while contemplating his lonely, and dejected life as an unloved gay man in Washington DC, before setting her shoulders and going to make his lonely gay life that much more interestingly hetero… I never said she was a nice person, did I? If I did, I’m sorry. I take it back.

**That and a swift shin splitting kick under the table, and my studiously ignoring her tears and screams of pain.

***I couldn’t resist the asterisks today.

This is the best marriage proposal on the face of the planet, VD.  I don’t know why you need another one.

“Is $50,000 enough for the wedding, do you think?  Or do you need more?  Oh well, everyone always goes over budget on these sorts of things anyways.”

(’drooling, over here. )

Thank the FIOS gods, for they have blessed me again! I’ve been without internet for over a month now, and it’s been killing me.  TV?  Yeah.  I’ve found better things to do with my time.  Like watching every DVD I own.  TWICE.  So I thank you, Verizon.

(Until I want to kill you next month.  So enjoy the good will while it lasts.)

(Now if only the Laptop Gods would get me a laptop that wasn’t dropped on its head as a child.)

So, what makes my day more than murals of women laughing at men’s junk? Well, that would be the ex-boyfriend (yeah.. I was 15, he was 23 or something… totally legal, and not the least bit gross, that one) winds up on the random matches listing that they send me to my e-mail.

Even better? He winds up divorced.

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! HA!

ok, not nice, since I think he had a really tough childhood. But, on the other hand?

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

hahahaha! H-A!