what the shit?
who the damn?
HOLD THE MOTHATRUCKIN' PHONE.
Hot Exec is in his office.
apparently, elvis has not yet left the building.
it's like heaven heard my cries of pain and loss and granted me more time with my sweetly freckled, kinda dumpy-assed piece of hot eye candy.
to be clear, he doesn't have a dumpy ass so much as bad taste in slacks. if he could just wear dickies or something, i am sure his butt would look better. maybe not better. but not as dumpy. i mean, you can't even see someone's ass in dickies, and no ass is better than dumpy-ass.
m1 said she heard him coughing really badly this morning, so apperantly via my hot sweaty fever fantasy m-seshes i gave him my sick!
awww! we're chained!
poor ol' sick bean.
speaking of which, i should have gone to bed earlier last night. i mean, i got about a straight six in, but when i got up this morning i was so groggy and cranky that i actually got in a fight with stuart this morning. he tripped me while i was walking around in the closet getting dressed and i nearly fell and died, so i yelled at him, and then he hissed at me, and then i stomped in front of him, and then he ran away.
he came up and said sorry while i was tying my shoes, though. at least, that's what i took his rubbing up against my leg as.
he knew he was in the wrong.
today, when i was on my way in from the parking lot, it was raining and cold and i got soaked through and the cold is in my bones.
i think when it gets cold for real here, i will probably cry.
