It's 11Pm. You have to be up in five hours. Your phone rings. Your heart races. Fearing the worst, you check your phone as your boyfriend leans over to see what the problem is. You laugh, and return the text. Confused, your boyfriend asks, "What was that about?"
"Oh, that was just Corey from work..."
If I were narrating this, an appropriate song would play out as I got to that last part and a split screen would show empty bottles of Sky Vodka. Ya, that and some straws leaning to the side of about three Long Island Iced Tea glasses. Just another Saturday night. The loneliest night of the week.
Some of you may have noticed the review of my boss' coolness on the Facebook page. That I totally wrote. And wasn't her hacking into my stuff like she was some Mission Impossible flunky. And when I say hacked, I might mean that I didn't sign out. On the office computer. At the front desk. Hey, If you don't roll the dice, you aren't in the game. Pfft.
So, somewhere along the way on Saturday I figured out that Rachelle left an update on my facebook deal. I promptly responded by calling her, or so she says, and pouring forth with a gem of Stewart proportions...
Sometimes if you want to know if the noodle is cooked, you gotta throw it against the wall. To hear her tell it, it was like a full frontal assault. I say there may be some wishful thinking, Freudian slips, or otherwise a projected disposition here. No biggie. I'm big enough to manage the delicate balance between overt criminal unwanted advances and complete disinterest. It would appear that balance lies at Rod Stewart. Ha!
Btw, I'm blogging this at work. In every one's face. Hella risky Indeed. Gotta walk the knife edge.
2 comments:
hella risky, bro.
i need a transcript of that 11pm phone call though. just to make sure this is legit.
Ya, well she probably has it in her phone, but it wasn't quite as wild in real life. I took some editorial liberties to spice the situation up.
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