Lightning quick post because it's getting late and I'm not really in the mood to write. So why write at all? Maybe doing so will stoke the fire in my belly. Or something.
Lost was good this week. They'll need to soften or freeze the pace soon, though, so the viewer has a chance to exhale. Too much tension is not good for anyone.
Seemed like Ellen was coming on to me today. She was wearing a short skirt and I noticed she was bending over in front of me a lot. This alone isn't what made me wonder-- there were other, but not as overt, indications -- but it helped solidify my suspicion that she was up to something. I mean, I'd be at my desk and she'd be there in front of me bending over with her ass practically in my face. And I'm not talking about bending over quickly to pick something up off the floor, but suggestive, drawn-out postures that were, especially in the context of location, peculiar. So what happened? We had sex with most of our clothes on in the storage room.
It was Marcy's birthday yesterday so we had a little party with Bertucci's pizza and cupcakes made by Ann. It's been slow lately, but there was plenty of work to do. I felt secure in numerous ways and felt lucky that I work with people I like and respect. Today, it was slow and less festive. No pizza, no cupcakes. I did get to talk with Ann some, which was nice, but other than that, kind of a ka ka day
Ok, I've written more than I intended to and must stop. Goodnight bitches.
Post script: We didn't have sex, Ellen and I, but you probably already guessed that. You did, however, form the image in your mind of me knocking boots with someone, didn't you, you sick fuck? Well, I suppose you enjoyed it; how could you not, right?
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