Sunday, April 09, 2006

Drycleaner blues be gone

Wistfully inspecting my winter coat, checking all stains acquired this winter had vanished (including cum stains from fabulous unexpected sex with Muppet who've I recently had to get rid of for sanity's sake) I noted sadly that yes my new drycleaner had done a superb job. She'd also sewn on buttons (again torn off by Muppet in another moment of carnal bliss) buttons I'd just not been able to bring myself to sew on - pathetically sentimental I know.

Feeling somewhat blue for what had now left my life (cum stains and no buttons) I was ferreting in my bag for cash, dithering about and taking up valuable counter space and time. Lost in the cum and button moment I'd not realised someone behind me was in a hurry - not realised until I heard a polite but urgent

"hhhmm..umm...sorry... do you mind if I cut in... it's just...arrh...can I just pay....uumm....errr....sorry....aaarhh...I'm in a bit of hurry". Looking around my face brightened - before me stood a v cute, disheveled Brit doing a impatient hybrid hop from one foot to another. Hybrid, lopsided hop due to crutch under one arm supporting a good leg and one slightly not so.

"Oh dear...what happened...are you OK?". Suddenly I was big doleful caring eyes. "Oh my goodness I'm so sorry I gushed....truly...please pay".

"No I'm sorry it's just..." he tried to explain without really explaining...bloody hell he was really cute - the kind of cute which immediately cleared my head of Muppet-longing and filled it with sexier than Colin Farrell longing.

"No, no I'm sorry... checking for"...I really was gushing..

"Yes, no I realise you've got to make sure they got everything out" he continued (little does he know). Anyway you get the picture. Following a tad more hopping and apologising from him and a lot more gushing and apologising from me he eventually shot out of the door - lopsided of course the tinkle of the doorbell his final farewell.

Spinning back to the drycleaner, I was immediately all over it....."Who is he? Does he live around here? Is he married or have a girlfriend? My God he was cute. Is he nice? Do you know him? The drycleaner a delightful Asian woman (of course) was delighted in my delight and told me his name - John and he lives around the corner and yes he is a regular customer and no she didn't think he had a girlfriend.

Spurred on by the unexpected turn to an otherwise grisly day she pulled down the calendar and started pouring over it with the gusto of a military operation. She calculated dates and times, jotted down on my receipt. Previous times' of day he popped in were noted. What he actually had drycleaned discussed - shirts (my guess is he's a trader). John also apparently plays a lot of squash, watches a lot of sport, is a very nice guy and definitely doesn't have a girlfriend....well at least not one who collects/drops off his shirts. My new matchmaker was beaming...promising to give him my name and number next time he came in..hurry up John, I've got my spring-time Mac to stain.

Sunday, April 02, 2006

Sex Texting

Something is seriously wrong with me. I'm acquiring v male character traits ie/ I'm looking/assessing every man I come into contact with, questioning "could I fuck them?". Reached a particularly low point today over brunch with one of best-friend's friend-with-benefits. Decided that no I could not fuck him; he bobs his head too much in conversation; can only imagine what sexual jigging would do. Was so dizzy trying to keep eye contact with a head that was like a pogo-stick that I couldn't eat my eggs.

Wondering also how low my moral ground has sunk. Have spent past 10 days either ignoring or making up quick responses to Mafiosi Toy-boy's sex texting. Terrible: last night as I was trying to climb into bed, slightly tipsy, well v tipsy MTB was sending me rapid-fire sex texts about how hot I was, what he would like to do to me, and how I was responding. My reaction: I encouraged the poor sod, by claiming I was masturbating whilst still wearing my cowboy boots but nothing else. Reality: eye mask on, and settling into perfectly cosy sleeping position. Followed up with further deception this morning with text claiming I woke up wet thinking of him, and had to help myself before breakfast. Perhaps all this really means is that I should get a job in the porn industry - script writing. Going straight to Craigslist.

Saturday, April 01, 2006

Chipmunk and burgers

Have become burger obsessed. Problem is I think due to new obsession am now sporting celullite. Bloody hell.

Brunched with Chipmunk who really is a chipmunk. How does he think he's soo hot? He's a sunscorched salt and pepper haired 40year old chipmunk.

He is good company so long as the conversation is about him. I guess I did get to have another burger. I'll deal with the celulite tomorrow.

Tax distractions

Should be finishing my taxes. I was such a good girl about 2 weeks ago. Determined to do my own taxes I did begin the task. My noble intentions however have been interrupted by:

1. Deciding to find another new apartment - nothing wrong with the one I live in - is spacious and I live with the most easy-going man on planet - damn it if only I fancied him....sex in own home with separate bedrooms - this week's dream come true.

2. Signing lease for ugly but well positioned apartment in West Village. Got into complete broker/legal pickle. Broker claimed I was beholden to lease I signed but which I now don't want. Brokers are weasels....not a newsflash. Weasel broker still hounding me for $3000 finders fee. Doesn't really sound reasonable for unwanted apartment.

3. Craigslist obsession ie/ trawling for apartments which read divinely; in reality dark cockroach riddled shoeboxes.

4. Design Hotel and other swanky hotel website searches. Maybe becoming as obsessed with these things as Hotel Boy. Problem is I don't really have the time to do so, nor funds.

5. Alternatively creating sex scenes in head starring me and lardy mono-browed Greek; me and Mafiosi Toy-boy; me and Hotel Boy. Obviously not getting enough sex (make that any sex) thus developing sex-obsessed mental condition. How does one get into the porn industry? Hmm another thing to look into on Craigslist and not do my taxes.