Friends, foes, strangers: apologies for my last blog. That was some weird, emotionally strung psycho woman talking, who was clearly hormonal and had forgotten about her ultimate mission, this being:
Big, juicy willies.
This goal seems much clearer today.
Right, as the title suggests, 13 days from now, I intend to make out with someone from work. This is the day my company is hosting a Christmas party at some fancy hotel, and I am determined to "pull" Stouty.
As I'm swaying my shoulders back and forth to the music on the dance floor, I'm hoping to catch Stouty's attention. He won't be able to resist my sexy little number and will walk over, clicking his fingers to the beat. We'll begin with a brief introduction, which might unfold as follows:
S: I've seen you at the gym.
M: Oh have you? I'm always in my own little world, so that's probably why I've never noticed you. (A lie - I've definitely noticed. As he jogs on the treadmill, I watch him take long, slow strides - oh those beautiful, solid calves and that smooth, strong, muscular back! What a turn on.)
S: I'm Stouty by the way.
M: Morgan. Nice to meet you.
S: You've got some great moves, Morgan.
M: Thanks. You should know, the dance floor isn't the only place where I show off my great moves.
We'll then touch each other flirtatiously, move in closer and closer, eyes locked, hips swaying to the rhythm. In no time, we'll be lip-locked and tongue-tied. It's going to be hot. Maybe even too hot to handle. I'll have to get Cynthia booked in for a wax soon.
I just hope he's good looking up close. Otherwise, the above scenario will actually end up being this:
S: I've seen you at the gym.
M: Oh have you? (At this time, I'll be desperately looking around for Flame, Will, Tweedle and Foxy Toxi.)
S: I'm Stouty by the way.
M: Oh look, my friends are calling me. I better get going. Nice to meet you!
It's about time I sleep with someone new. Please Stouty, please don't have an ass for a face (you seem to look ok from far away). Mind you, free booze that night, so he probably won't look that bad anyway.
On a different note, I got four text messages from Baklava today. He arrived back from Turkey yesterday and is already back to unleashing his offensively creepy ways on me.
His texts read:
Hey Morgan, it's Baklava. My real number got crazy, I can't call or text anybody though able to receive call or text. This is my new number for a while until the other one is fixed. Morning by the way. x
Hey Morgan, it's Baklava. My real number got crazy, I can't call or text anybody though able to receive call and text, this is my new number for a while. x
I'll use this number until it's fixed. How are you doing? x
Really freezing London. Turkey was minimum 24 degree. How was Las Vegas, have you gambled? :)
(I was in Vegas for a few days last week.)
Does he think I care for this amount of detail? Does he think I care at all? Is me not replying to any of his messages not a clear enough sign? Why does he insist on having a conversation with himself?
On my way home, I called Smarty for want of anything better to do. He tells me that he has thrush. He then changes his mind and tells me he has Cystitis. Apparently he went to the doctor today (but couldn't retain the information long enough). His sheer stupidity does amuse me. I made him stay on the phone for a good hour to keep me entertained. I might go and see him tomorrow. At least he'll feed me and give me a long back scratch (my two favourite things). And no, I'm not a dog (although admittedly, I am a bitch).
No word from Thumb Ring, as predicted. Good for him! If he had contacted me, after me blowing him off so many times, I would have thought him pathetic. Instead, I think him a very respectable chap. Kudos to him. (Baklava, you could learn a thing or two from Thumb Ring.)
WW sent me a text asking when we could next meet. Sorry WW, you won't be hearing from me anymore. Your dick is seriously messed up.
I haven't replied to Broadback, nor will I.
No word from Wolfman as yet. Any day now...
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